A Day in the Life
by gallifreyanassbutts
Summary: HIGH SCHOOL AU! Following the lives of the students of Lawrence High School for a day as they each struggle with their own demons and interact with each other in the jungle that is High School
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thank you everyone who is taking an interest in this story. I just wanted to let you all know in advance that this is completely unbeta'd so please bear with the plot holes and gramatical errors. I'm doing my best to catch them but anywho enjoy! **

* * *

Jo Harvelle woke up to her alarm blaring at five thirty on Monday morning, the memory of the incredible dream she had been having fading quickly as she slapped the top of her alarm clock clumsily to shut the irritating sound off. With a groan that resonated through her whole body, she swung her feet off the edge of her bed and stretched her arms up over her head, her back protesting at the sudden movement. She was still stiff from late shift she had at the bar last night. Some drunk assholes had decided it was fun to shove their gum into cracks in the floor and Jo had been there well past closing time, trying to pick it out. As she stood up, she could feel her spine crack sharply, but then she felt a little better after that.

With a wide yawn she shuffled across her room and fumbled along the wall for the light switch. It was still dark out, and when light flooded her room Jo flinched and shielded her eyes. Once she had adjusted to the sudden brightness, she glanced around her messy room with a scowl. Her clothes were strewn everywhere on the carpeted floor and her books for school were stacked in a haphazard pile on her desk, seeming like they were going to fall at any moment. Her mother was always telling her to pick up after herself, but Jo was always too busy to worry about things like folding her shirts or organizing the papers on her desk. Besides, she always knew where everything was. With a sigh, she spotted what she was looking for under a pile of old tee shirts. She pulled out her wrinkled sweatpants and a tank top, donning them in place of her holey pajamas. She pulled socks onto her cold feet and grabbed a pair of sneakers out from under a skirt that she wore to a party on Saturday. After slinging an old sweatshirt over her shoulder, Jo switched her light off and left her room, closing the door behind her with a soft _click_.

Quietly, she padded down the hallway. She passed her mother's room and saw that the door was slightly ajar. Her mom, Ellen, would still be asleep for another couple hours. She didn't open her bar until eleven on weekdays. That must be one of the perks of owning her own business, Jo thought as she descended the stairs, taking care to hop the step that squeaked shrilly whenever somebody put any weight on it. She planned on owning the bar after her mom thought she was ready. She didn't even want to bother with college, but Ellen had been adamant on getting her to apply. Jo was only persuaded once her mother said that her dad would have wanted her to go to college. He had died when Jo was seven, and while she didn't really remember him much it was enough to guilt her into sending in an application to University of Kansas. She got her letter of acceptance in March and she hadn't ever seen her mother prouder.

In the kitchen, Jo flicked on the lights and turned on the coffee maker. With robotic movements she stuck a piece of bread in the toaster and poured herself a bowl of cheerios. She ate the cereal slowly at the counter, waiting for her toast and the coffee to finish. It wasn't long before she swallowed her last bite of buttered toast, downed the last gulp of her caffeinated drink, and washed her bowl and spoon. By then it was just a few minutes to six and the sky outside the kitchen window was turning a light shade of gray. She had an hour and a half before she had to be showered and ready for school. That was plenty of time for her usual running route.

Jo tidied up the kitchen after herself and shut the light off in there. In the entry hallway she laced on her sneakers and grabbed her iPod and keys from the little dish by the front door. Sticking both into the pockets of her sweats, she let herself outside and breathed in the fresh spring air. It was going to be another warm day, she thought with a grin as she pushed her headphones into her ears and set off at a jog down the quiet street. Every other house was still dark, the people inside only just waking up to greet the day. Jo jogged by them all, the grin never falling from her face.

* * *

Around six fifteen, Dean Winchester's alarm went off, blasting some long guitar solo from an obscure classic rock song in his ear. With a stifled groan, he fumbled around on his bedside table until his fingers found his alarm clock and silenced it. There was a grunt from the other side of the room accompanied by the sound of rustling sheets and the creak of the floorboards.

"Dude, you have got to change that alarm. It gives me a headache every morning," his little brother, Sam, moaned. Dean heard him yawn and stretch.

"Don't lie to yourself, you know you love it," Dean shot back. His face was still pressed against his pillow, and when Sam didn't respond he wasn't sure whether or not his little brother had heard him.

"You gonna shower?" Sam asked as Dean finally shoved himself into a sitting position and stretched. Sam was rifling through a drawer, pulling out a pair of jeans and some nerdy tee shirt that Dean had gotten for him for a birthday a few years ago. He ran a hand through his bed-mussed hair, yawning widely and glancing over at Dean, waiting for an answer.

"You go ahead," he said, waving at Sam dismissively. "I'll make breakfast."

"Thanks, man." Sam turned and padded out of the room and into the shadowy darkness of the hallway. Dean heard him close the door to the bathroom, and not long after that turn the shower on. With a grunt, he heaved himself out of bed and walked down the hallway as well. The light from the crack under the bathroom door illuminated the narrow space just enough for Dean to see where he was going, but he had walked the length of their apartment so many times that it really didn't matter if he was in the pitch black. He walked as quietly as he could past his parents' bedroom, hoping that if they were still asleep he wouldn't wake them.

"Dean," he heard his mother, Mary, call softly from inside the room. So at least they were already awake.

"Yeah, mom?" He stuck his head into their bedroom and saw her reaching up and flicking on her bedside lamp. His father, John, covered his eyes and groaned softly, rolling away from the light. Dean smirked and looked back at his mother's warm face. She had bags under her eyes from a late shift at the diner.

"Can you put the coffee on?"

"Yeah, no problem." He was about to let them be when he stopped and stuck his head back into the room. "I'm gonna scramble some eggs, too. Anybody interested?"

"That'd be nice, thank you so much, Dean" Mary said with a smile.

"Some for me, too," John groaned from his side of the bed. Mary shoved him, rolling her eyes and Dean heard the rumble of John's deep chuckle. _"Please."_

"Don't worry about it," Dean said as he walked down the hallway and into the little kitchen nook. He set the coffee maker on and got right into making breakfast for the whole family. Knowing Sam's appetite, he ended up cracking around ten eggs into a frying pan. He also stuck four pieces of bread into the toaster oven and pulled out an apple for himself. With one hand he mixed the eggs and with another he ate the apple in a few big bites. The coffee maker wheezed as it ground out a few ounces of dark liquid.

He heard Sam shut the hot water off and walked back into their room, probably to get his books together and get dressed. Dean grinned as he thought about his kid brother checking to make sure he had all of his homework ready for school. Sam was a good kid. It was his first year in high school and he was doing better than Dean ever had. He was getting almost perfect grades, he played football in the fall, all of his teachers loved him, and Dean had never heard of him getting into a fight with anybody. Whenever he saw him in the cafeteria he was surrounded by a good group of kids who were all laughing and joking around.

Meanwhile Dean, a senior, had only just scraped getting into the University of Kansas and was on the black list of most of his teachers. The only ones who liked him were the ones who taught subjects he actually _tried_ in, like his English teacher, Mr. Shurley, and his history teacher, Mr. Singer. The art teacher, Ms. Barnes, loved him too but there wasn't a student at Lawrence High School that she didn't like. Dean loathed high school and he couldn't wait to get out of that hellhole. With dicks like Michael Smith and Zachariah Thompson walking around like they owned the place, Dean was surprised that anybody put up with going at all. He only stayed in school because he didn't want to disappoint his parents. Both of them hadn't gone to college and his dad didn't even get his GED. They would never forgive him if he dropped out, but graduation was only a month and a half away. Dean was so close he could almost taste it, and he only had to suffer through a handful more weeks of high school before he was done for good.

He tossed away his apple core, spooned the eggs onto four separate plates, the biggest serving set aside for Sam, and spread some jelly on each slice of toast. One by one everybody was drawn into the kitchen by the smell of cooked breakfast. Dean cleared out of the kitchen nook, given that there was no room for more than one or two people, and placed his plate on the little round table in the central living room of the apartment. Sam snatched his plate and sat down next to Dean, his long shaggy hair still dripping onto his gray tee shirt. John walked over to the front door and grabbed the newspaper left there, flipping through the first few pages as he brought his own plate to the table. Mary poured coffee for everybody and sat down with her family, sighing contentedly.

"This looks so great, Dean, thank you," she said, taking a bite of egg.

"No problem," he replied around a mouthful of toast.

"Dad, have you seen my copy of _Macbeth_?" Sam asked, pouring salt and pepper onto his eggs. "I thought I saw you move it yesterday."

"No, sorry, Sam," John answered distractedly. He seemed to be really engrossed in whatever he was reading. Dean rolled his eyes at their dad and glanced at his brother.

"I think it's on my nightstand," he said.

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. "What's it doing there?"

"I was looking for something yesterday and moved it."

"Yeah, thanks for telling me."

Dean smirked at him and scraped the last bits of egg off his plate.

"Dean you have a baseball game today, right?" Mary asked around her mug of coffee. "And Sam, you have rehearsal?"

He said, "No, it's tomorrow," and glanced sideways at his brother. He knew Sam was expecting a snarky comment about the fact that he was involved in theatre. Dean couldn't believe it when he heard that San got a part in the musical. He had laughed for maybe five minutes before he could get it together and speak again. Sam never explained why he auditioned in the first place, but Dean suspected it had to do with that blonde girl that Sam was almost always sitting next to at lunch.

"Yeah," Sam said in a guarded tone. "The show's on Friday so I'm gonna be there late every day this week."

Dean couldn't resist. "So how's your costume?"

"What?" Sam asked, confused. Dean looked him dead in the eye and tried to look genuinely serious.

"How is your costume?" he repeated.

"I—uh… why do you care?"

"I'm just curious if they make tights big enough for you," Dean snorted as he stood up. Sam glowered at him and shoveled a huge mouthful of egg into his mouth, refusing to respond. Dean saw John's face break into a grin behind his newspaper. Mary scowled.

"Dean, knock it off and apologize to your brother," she chastised.

He swallowed the last of his coffee and grinned. "Sorry, Sammy." He dumped his plate in the dishwasher and headed back toward his room, hearing his brother grumble something along the lines of "Yeah, whatever," at his back. Dean just laughed as he dressed, shoving carelessly done homework into his backpack and otherwise preparing for the day.

* * *

Charlie Bradbury was woken up around six forty-five by an insistent pinging from her iPhone. Instantly she was wide awake and groping for it, wondering what had happened in the gaming world while she was asleep. The phone was tucked under the corner of her pillow, right at the edge of her bed. She had fallen asleep with it in her hands, chatting with her two friends about the video game she had just beat them at. Ed Zeddmore had whined like a baby that she had somehow cheated (because there was no possible way that a girl could have beaten him on her first time playing the game) and Charlie had laughed in his face as best she could through texts. Harry Spangler had laughed along with her, but only because she knew he had the biggest crush on her. She had tried to tell him several times before that one, that she was a senior and seniors didn't date sophomores and two, she was playing for the wrong team. He was undeterred, if the texts Charlie had just received told her anything.

_Want to hang out tonight? We can have a Lord of the Rings marathon_

Charlie bit her lip and tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear. She knew that Harry meant well, but she really didn't want to lead him on. He was a good guy. Besides, somebody else had already caught her eye. She did want to stay friends with him, though.

Sighing, she typed out: _Sure. We can bring Ed and watch him quote every Gandalf line :) _

When there was no response for a while, she added: _What are you doing up now, anyway? I thought you were morally against getting up before 7_

To that, he responded quickly. _My mom made pancakes_

She grinned. _They must be good if they get you out of bed early_

_You haven't lived until you've tried them_

_Well I guess that means I'll be a zombie until I do try them_

The phone was quiet for a while, and then: _I'll hold you to that ;) _

Charlie groaned and tossed her phone to the end of the bed. Why did he always have to end up flirting with every conversation? She was aware that she was gorgeous and she supposed that Harry was into the whole 'dating older girls' thing but why couldn't he see that the pursuit was hopeless? It was like Eowyn and Aragorn. It was just never going to happen. Aragorn was madly in love with Arwen, the flawless elven princess already.

"I guess I just need to get my elven princess to fall in love with me," Charlie sighed sadly as she stood up, thoughts of her beloved filling her head. Anna Milton. Even her name was beautiful. She was a junior and she was perfect in every way. She was willowy and quiet, she had flaming red hair even brighter than Charlie's, her eyes were like dark emeralds, and she had the most gorgeous smile. Even better was that she was single and as far as Charlie knew she never had a boyfriend while in high school. There was a chance, however slim, that things could work out. Maybe if Charlie got her alone for a little while—

"Oh no you don't," she scolded herself, looking into her mirror. Her reflection was shadowy given that she hadn't even turned the lights on yet. Dim light was filtering through the sheer curtains covering her window. She ran a hand through her hair, which was in complete disarray because she didn't brush it last night after her shower. There was no chance of making it work with her today, so she dejectedly pulled it back into a sloppy ponytail at the back of her head. "It's way too early to be having those kinds of thoughts, Charlie." Her reflection looked back at her almost defiantly and she rolled her eyes at herself.

"Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness."

Chuckling to herself, she began to get ready for school. Her alarm would be going off any minute anyway, so there was no point in trying to catch a few more minutes of rest. Searching through her drawers, she pulled out a Doctor Who tee shirt and a pair of jeans. She laid them on the bed, scrutinizing her outfit choice, and then nodded and bounded over to her closet, pulling out a pair of black Converse with neon green laces. Perfect. She put those down on the foot of her bed and noticed her phone light up with a new text. Uncertainly, she reached over and saw Harry's name plastered across the screen.

_Ed's down for LOTR marathon_ was all it said. Charlie heaved a sigh of relief and began her reply immediately.

_Sounds awesome. I'll be sure to bring my battle axe so we can go all out :)_

_Cool. See you at lunch_

_Bye!_

Smiling widely she shut her phone off to save battery and shoved it into the front pocket of her backpack. Maybe he was getting the message, but maybe pigs were learning to fly. She just resolved to be careful around him until she could properly gage what his feelings toward her were, and then she would take action. If it meant she would have to give him a cold smack of reality and kiss a girl in front of him, so be it. The real trick would be finding a girl to kiss.

And with that more dirty thoughts about Anna Milton crept into her mind. Charlie only halfheartedly tried to bat them away as she went to go make breakfast for herself. Unlike Harry, whose mom made him breakfast almost every morning, her parents both left for work early and came home after she was in bed. She only ever saw them on weekends unless one was sick and forced to stay home. That was fine by Charlie, though. They didn't really know each other well enough to mind the constant separation. They worked hard and earned a lot of money. They were sending Charlie to an expensive private college to study computer sciences and got her anything she needed or wanted. The little talks they had here and there were enough for her.

Still, the big kitchen with marble tiles felt empty with only thoughts of Anna Milton to keep her company as she ate a cold breakfast at the table all alone.

* * *

Gabriel Novak woke his brother up with a wet willy at precisely seven o'clock. Castiel growled and swatted the uncomfortably wet finger away, trying but failing to get Gabriel to leave him alone.

"Time to get up, bro," Gabriel laughed in his ear. Castiel tried to pull the sheets up over his head to create a barrier between his obnoxious little brother and himself, but Gabriel would have none of that. He grabbed the sheet and yanked it from Castiel's grasp. "Oh no. Dad told me to get you up so rise and shine!"

"No," he groaned into his pillow, his voice thick from sleep.

"Don't make me _make_ you get up," Gabriel warned. Castiel heard him laugh like a classic movie villain, and he could already see the uncomfortable pranks Gabriel was capable of. On a Monday morning, Castiel wasn't sure he could handle that. So, reluctantly, he dragged himself out of the warm cocoon of sheets and blankets and blinked in the brightness of his room. Gabriel frowned at him.

"I was really hoping you wouldn't get up," he sighed. "I had some big plans for you this morning."

"Which is precisely why I did get up," Castiel sighed as he stood up and stretched. "I need to change, so please go back downstairs."

"Whatever." Gabriel shrugged, clearly disappointed, and trudged out of the room. Castiel closed the door behind him and leaned against it, like he was trying to keep the rest of the world at bay. Looking around his pristine room, he sighed again. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and bacon was wafting up from downstairs. No doubt his father was cooking. Mondays were his day off, after all, and he loved to cook when he didn't have to be at work. Gabriel and Hester would already be dressed and eating downstairs, no doubt. They would probably be having a pleasant conversation with their father about schoolwork and extracurricular activities. Castiel pushed away from the door and sighed again.

Why was it so easy for them? Castiel always found it challenging to communicate fluidly with others, most of all people that he cared about. The worst, though, was Dean Winchester. Castiel sat right behind him in English class and he couldn't for the life of him get a clear word out when speaking with him. Whenever he did muster up the courage to start a conversation, Dean's brilliant green eyes or his freckles would always distract Castiel from what he was trying to say and then he would catch himself staring embarrassingly at Dean's confused and slightly uncomfortable face. Those rare moments always ended in a beet red face and a few awkward laughs and then they wouldn't speak again for weeks. Dean never started the conversation.

Castiel slowly pulled on jeans and a thin sweater that was slightly rumpled. He had worn it once the week before, but it was still clean. There was a pair of clean white sneakers at the foot of his bed, and he slipped those onto his feet and glanced in the mirror above his dresser. His dark hair was a mess, but no matter how hard he tried to tame it, it never seemed to cooperate. There were dark rings under his eyes because Castiel had been up late the night before reading. He had been so engrossed in the book they were reading in English that he decided to go ahead and finish it. It had kept him up until three thirty in the morning.

"Come get breakfast while it's still hot, Castiel!" his father shouted up the stairs.

"I'm coming!" Castiel returned as he grabbed his backpack and exited his room. There was no need to check if he had all of his books because he packed everything last night immediately after completing his homework. He walked down the steps quickly, bag slung carelessly over his shoulder, and walked into the warm expanse of the kitchen.

Castiel's father, Richard Novak, was at the stove just shutting off the gas powered flames. There was a steaming plate of bacon at the center of the oblong table, where both Hester and Gabriel were sitting. Hester had a worksheet for what looked like math laid out in front of her and Gabriel was doing his best to doodle on the margins without her noticing. Castiel grinned when Hester jabbed him in the side, finally getting him to stop. She was a freshman and he was a junior, and she was taking none of the mistreatment Castiel faced.

"Eat up," Richard said when he noticed his oldest son hovering in the entrance to the kitchen.

"Thank you," Castiel replied as he took a seat across from his siblings and helped himself to a few pieces of bacon. The food was greasy and a little too soft for his liking, but he ate it all the same because it was a kind gesture by his father and he wasn't going to act like a snob.

"Alright we need to get moving because I'm meeting a friend from out of town today," Richard said suddenly, glancing up at the clock. It was just past seven fifteen. "Can we roll out of here in five minutes?"

"I still need to get dressed," Gabriel complained.

"Then go get dressed," his father shot back. "And be quick about it."

Gabriel got up from the table, muttering something under his breath and regarding his father with a dark gaze. Castiel was not envious of whatever his father was going to face later that day.

"With whom are you meeting?" he asked lightly when he finished the last piece of bacon he served himself.

"A friend from college named Uriel. I don't think you kids ever met him."

"No I don't believe we have."

"He's a good guy," Richard murmured, for a moment lost in the memories of his old friend. Castiel didn't try to prod further because to be perfectly honest, he wasn't that interested in his father's old friend. Instead he wiped his hands on a napkin and went to the sink to wash the grease from his face. The kitchen was quiet until Gabriel came leaping down the stairs, dressed in jeans and white tee shirt with some pop culture reference that Castiel didn't fully understand. Gabriel had given up long ago on trying to explain these kinds of things to his older brother.

"Ready?" Richard asked them all, grabbing his car keys.

Nobody answered him, and they all filed out the back door to the garage where they piled into the SUV and headed to school only a couple minutes early.

* * *

"Adam, honey?" a gentle but firm voice murmured in Adam Milligan's ear. He turned away, not wanting to hear it. "It's time to get up. You overslept." That made him open his eyes. He looked into his mother, Kate Milligan's face and squinted.

"What time is it?" he groaned.

"Almost seven thirty. Your alarm must not have gone off," she told him, backing away.

He sat bolt upright, gaping at the clock. "Oh God I can't be late again," he moaned jumping out of bed. The sudden change in levels made him dizzy and he was struck by a feeling of vertigo. He felt his mother's soft hand on his elbow, steadying him.

"Get dressed quickly and we can be out the door as soon as you need," she said. "I'll go get something for you to eat." Without another word she walked down the hall and into the kitchen.

Adam slammed the door behind her and began frantically searching for something decent to wear. He pulled on a tee shirt, sweatshirt, and a pair of jeans before realizing that he had the shirt on backward and the fly on his jeans was down. Growling at himself, he fix everything and grabbed his backpack from where it was resting against his desk. The zipper hadn't been done up, so a few books spilled out onto the floor of his room amongst dirty clothes and clean laundry scattered everywhere. Growling again he stuffed the books into his bag and zipped it with more force than necessary, worrying for a moment that the zipper might actually break.

Mr. Walker was going to kill him if he was late for homeroom one more time. He got a warning last week when he got stuck inside the equipment shed before first period by a bunch of dickhead jocks and another one the week before that when his mom's car broke down on the way to school. If he didn't make it on time today then there would be hell to pay.

Almost sprinting across the decently sized apartment, Adam saw his mom walking from the kitchen with a brown paper bag in one hand and an apple in the other. He grabbed both and together they headed for the door and down the hallway. They lived on the second floor of their complex so rather than waiting for the elevator, Adam took the stairs two at a time. His mother struggled to keep up with him and he ended up waiting by the car a few moments for her to catch up. She was slightly out of breath.

"You seem excited to get to school," she joked once they were both seated and the engine was running.

Adam tried to grin but it ended up more as a grimace. "Yeah, super excited."

"If you do end up getting in trouble just call me, okay?" she said as the pulled out of the parking garage and into the busy street. "That one time two weeks ago for being late was no fault of yours and they shouldn't be punishing you for it."

"Yeah." Adam hadn't told his mother about the other times he had been late because of the jocks. He didn't want her to worry about him because she worried enough as it was. She had made him transfer schools after his freshman year at a different high school because of similar problems. They had had to move between school districts and Adam knew that had caused her a lot of problems with commuting for work, but somehow they had made it work out. Still, he could see that she was strained every night after she comes home.

"You'll be on time," Kate said as she glanced at the dashboard clock. It was only seven thirty five. School started at eight and it took twenty minutes or so to get there. She was right. Hopefully. Still, he noticed she put on a burst of speed after a red light. He smiled at her and saw her smile back out of the corner of his eye, and not for the first time he was thankful to have such a great mom.

* * *

Meg Masters rolled dark mascara onto her eyelashes as she smirked at her reflection. Loud punk music was filtering from her bedroom, playing from her iPod speakers. The lights in the bathroom flickered uncertainly as she screwed the cap back onto the mascara and tossing the tube into her makeup bag. She was well aware that school was starting in five minutes and that she would undoubtedly be late but it didn't matter to her. She was out late last night and if she looked like shit then she might as well not show up.

As she walked out of the bathroom she flicked the light off carelessly. The rest of the house was empty except for her dad, passed out on the couch downstairs. Her brother, Alastair, went out last night and didn't come back, much to Meg's satisfaction. One less thing for her to deal with in the morning. It's not like she needed him harassing her to start off a great day. She sauntered over to her dresser, where her iPhone was plugged into the speakers. There was a message flashing on the screen from her best friend since freshman year, Ruby Donovan.

_Hey bitch meet me behind the sports shed during lunch_

Meg smirked and typed back, _See you then slut ;) _

She knew that Ruby would probably have the good stuff with her. Ruby had connections that got her the best weed that Meg had ever smoked. She had tried getting Ruby's source out of her but for some reason she could never get the bitch to spill the beans.

Sliding a pair of heeled black leather boots over her black leggings, Meg glanced around her room. Everything she needed was shoved into her bag carelessly: the homework that she had left undone, the shitty books they were reading in English, and everything else that joke of a school assigned. She hooked the bag over her shoulder and strutted down the hallway and down the rickety stairs, careful to skip the steps that squeaked. She was not in the mood to deal with a hungover father that morning, thank you very much.

She slowly lowered her foot onto the hardwood of the entry hall and peeked around the corner at the living room. She saw her father's hairy arm slung over the side of the couch. The TV was still on, tuned into whatever he fell asleep watching the night before. She was about to stride through the front door when she heard a low, menacing groan from the couch.

"Meg," her father called in a slurred voice. "Get over here."

Grimacing, she stopped in her tracks and debated whether or not to just leave. She knew she would regret that later that evening, though, so she took a deep breath and walked into the living room, just far enough to be out of reach of her father's arms.

"Yeah?"

"I said get over here," he grunted, waving a hand clumsily. Meg maneuvered so that she was in his line of sight but still closer to the door than to him.

"What is it?"

"Don't get that tone with me." He glowered at her as he heaved himself upright.

Meg didn't respond.

"I need cash," he finally said.

Her eyes narrowed at the demand, her hand unconsciously snaking to her back pocket where she kept her wallet. "I have you my last bill yesterday. I haven't got any more."

He stood up suddenly, surprising her, and lumbered over to where she was standing. "Don't lie to me, girl," he growled, looming over her a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon gone wrong. Meg backed up as far as she could until she was pressed against a wall. He followed her, never letting her get far away from him.

"I'm telling the truth," she tried to say boldly, but her voice came out more like a whimper than a challenge. The bruises on her arms and side were already starting to ache in memory of the last time he had asked for money and she had nothing to give. He sneered at her, his yellow teeth filling her vision and his foul breath wafting into her nose. She watched with wide eyes as he raised a hand into the air, the fingers loosely in the shape of a fist.

"Fine," he spat, letting his saliva spatter her face. Meg blinked but didn't dare wipe it away. He ran his raised hand through his oily hair and backed away, giving her room to breathe. "But if you don't come home with money for me I don't think I'm gonna be as nice."

Meg nodded and didn't ask questions. Instead, she bolted for the door. Outside, the sun was high and it was warm. She checked her phone and saw that it was already eight twenty. She was definitely going to get detention, but that was the least of her worries as she began the ten-minute walk to school. Her whole body was still shaking from the encounter with her father, and there were tears sparkling at the corners of her eyes. Of course, by the time she reached the front doors of the school those were wiped away and a subtle smirk was pasted onto her fine featured face, daring anybody to try and mess with her.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam walked into school next to his brother at a place much slower than he would normally walk. He had longer legs than Dean and tended to take one step for every one and a half of his brother's. Most people found it really strange that as a freshman he was already only an inch shorter than his brother, who was four years older than him.

"So when am I gonna learn the name of that girl you've been drooling over for months now?" Dean demanded as they walked through the front doors of the school. The double doors let out a wailing shriek as they shut behind Dean.

Sam pressed his lips into a firm line and ignored the question. His big brother had been trying to find out about Jessica since he first saw her sitting with Sam at lunch one day. Sam refused to give Dean yet another thing to tease him over at every family meal or when he as trying to get homework done at night. He knew Dean was happy for him but some things a guy needed to keep to himself.

"Aw, come on," Dean pressed as they passed by the principal's office.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sam tried, but he knew Dean wouldn't fall for that.

"Yeah right," he deadpanned, placing a firm hand on his little brother's chest. They were standing right outside of Dean's homeroom. Some senior with a mullet walked by the two of them and into the classroom. "If you don't want to tell me the easy way, I'm gonna find out the hard way."

Sam shrugged, but he knew Dean was capable of what he was saying.

"Your choice," his big brother said gleefully as he brushed by Sam and traipsed into the classroom, glancing over his shoulder the whole way. Sam bit his lip and then decided he would regret it later if he didn't say anything now.

"Jess," he said loudly, stopping Dean. "Her name is Jess."

Dean smiled maliciously and nodded. "You have chosen wisely, little brother." And with that, he disappeared into the classroom. Sam didn't hang around to contemplate what horrors Dean had waiting for him now that he had a name. It wasn't even as if Jess was with Sam yet, but that didn't matter to Dean. He would find a way to make her feel really uncomfortable around Sam and he would probably ruin everything, but he really didn't feel like thinking about that.

"Hey! Hey, Sam!" a frantic voice called from down the hall, pulling Sam out of his thoughts about Dean and Jess. He knew who the voice belonged to, and as much as he wanted to keep walking and ignore it instinct still drove him to turn around and face her.

Becky Rosen.

She ran down the hallway, bumping into people and stumbling over her own feet once or twice. Sam waited uncomfortably next to the row of lockers, hoping that whatever she had to say to him it wouldn't take long. Jess was in his homeroom and he wanted to get a seat next to her. Maybe then he could start up a conversation about how crazy it was that the musical was this week and how stressed they were going to be, staying at school late every single day. Sam's face broke into a smile. He was going to be spending more time with Jess than he ever had before, now.

Becky stopped right in front of him, eyes widening when she saw his smile and mistaking it for him being happy to see her. Sam quickly set his features into a slightly bored and tired look, but the damage was done.

"Hi, Sam," she breathed, smiling a little too widely.

"Hey, uh, Becky." She seemed to melt a little when he said her name. "What's up?"

"Oh!" she gasped, jumping a little. She dropped her backpack to the floor and started rummaging through it. "I have something for you." She flashed a smile up at his confused face. "I heard you telling somebody at lunch yesterday that you really liked Alternative music so I made you a playlist." She pulled a blank CD in a paper case out of her bag and thrust it toward Sam. "I hope you like it."

Sam grimaced and accepted the CD. He had been talking to Jess about music yesterday, and Becky hadn't been sitting at the table with them. She must have been listening from a different table. The thought of her eavesdropping on his conversations gave Sam the creeps, but he couldn't just not accept it. It was a nice gesture, creepiness aside.

"Yeah, um thanks."

"You're welcome. Are you going to listen to it?" she demanded.

"When I get home, okay?"

Her head bobbed up and down. "Yeah, okay, great!"

"Yeah." Sam shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. "Well I gotta get to homeroom."

"Oh, okay," Becky sighed, her face falling. "Bye." Sam waved slightly and turned around to walk to homeroom, leaving her standing there on her own. He didn't look back but rushed to his designated classroom because that little encounter with Becky made him on the verge of being late. He reached his room just as the homeroom teacher, Mr. Singer, arrived. They both stopped just outside the door, each waiting for the other to go in first.

"Well I ain't got all day, boy," Mr. Singer said gruffly. He walked in first, muttering under his breath. Sam followed in his wake and looked around the room full of freshmen, searching for his friends. He saw them all huddled in the back corner, talking animatedly. Jess was right in the middle giggling and smiling. She saw him first and waved him over. Sam didn't hesitate and strode confidently across the room.

"You're usually earlier," Jess commented as soon as he took the closest seat to her he could find.

"Had a run in in the hallway," he admitted, shoving the CD into his backpack. Before he could say anything more, Mr. Singer was going through attendance and they were forced to pay attention. Still, Sam caught himself glancing over at Jess every chance he got as if when he wasn't looking she didn't exist.

* * *

Castiel was the first one to homeroom. Not even his homeroom teacher, Ms. Talbot, was there yet. His father had dropped him and his two siblings off early, so all he had to do was sit and wait for the day to begin. He would have used this time to get ahead in the reading in _The Merchant of Venice_, but he finished the play last night and the idea of going back to read it again wasn't very appealing. So, to pass the time Castiel simply stared out the window pensively and thought about everything.

It wasn't long before a few small groups of other students filtered in from the hallways, talking together and claiming their usual seats. Castiel wasn't familiar with any of them, even though they had been going to school together for four years. One boy who walked in, Ash Remington, was somebody that had once worked with Castiel on a group project. His shirt was black with bold white lettering that said _DOCTOR BADASS_. Castiel wasn't totally sure if that was supposed to be funny or if he truly wanted to be a doctor. Ash eyed everybody in the room, running a hand through his mullet-styled hair, before taking his seat in the back of the room. Castiel watched him go, taking his eyes off of the door. Of course, that was the exact moment that Dean Winchester decided to stride inside.

"Dean!" Castiel heard called from the other side of the room. His head snapped forward at the sound of the name, and he watched with wonder as the tall young man walked over to the girl that called him. She was pretty, with dark brown hair that fell to her shoulders and a gracefully lean body. Castiel could see her blue eyes flashing excitedly at the fact that she was the main focus of Dean Winchester's attention for the time being. Her friends giggled next to her as he stopped in front of her desk.

"What's up, Sasha?" he greeted, and she batted her dark lashes at him. Castiel wondered idly why girls thought that made them look more alluring. To him, when girls did that they looked more like they were trying to get something out of their eye.

"I'm having a party on Friday," Sasha said. "My parents are on a cruise and my uncle hooked me up with some great drinks. You in?" She smiled coyly.

Dean grinned for a moment and ran a hand through his spiky hair. Castiel saw that he looked conflicted about it for some reason. It didn't take him long to think about his answer, though. He shook his head and shrugged.

"Sorry, can't. I've got other plans already." He didn't sound all that sorry.

Sasha pouted and crossed her arms. "Fine."

It was right then that Ms. Talbot decided to enter the classroom. Castiel instantly sat up straighter when he heard her stiletto heels clacking against the tile floors. She smiled at everybody as she crossed the front of the room, dropping her bag on the desk in the far corner. Dean quickly grabbed the nearest seat and almost everybody quieted down to a chorus of whispers as she surveyed the room.

"Good morning, class," she said in her sharp British accent. Castiel had often wondered how somebody who had clearly been raised in Europe could end up teaching at a public school in Kansas. He never bothered to ask her, though, for fear that it was a personal question and would be inappropriate for a student to inquire of a teacher.

There were a few mumbled greetings back and she dove right into taking attendance. One by one she went down the alphabetical list of names. Castiel's was called somewhere in the middle, given that his last name began with the letter _N_. He softly said, "Here," and waved a hand at Ms. Talbot, and she nodded and made a mark on the clipboard she was holding. Castiel noticed Dean, who was sitting in the same row of seats as him, turn to glance sideways at him when Ms. Talbot called out his name. Castiel didn't want to meet the gaze because no doubt he would begin to sputter something and end up embarrassing himself again. Still, with just the thought of those blazing green eyes on his face, Castiel felt a blush creep up his cheeks.

"Dean Winchester," Ms. Talbot called out. Dean finally looked away from Castiel as he told the teacher that he was present, and Castiel let out an inaudible sigh of relief. Dean didn't look at him again for the rest of homeroom, which Castiel was perfectly content with. He didn't enjoy feeling like he was under a spotlight every time Dean looked at him.

"Okay, announcements," Ms. Talbot said as she placed the attendance sheet on her desk and studied her clipboard. "Elections for next year's student council are being held this week, and while it doesn't affect you, everyone still has to attend the speeches on Wednesday in the auditorium." Before she was bombarded by the cacophony of groans, she held a hand up. "I wouldn't complain if I were you. You get out of afternoon classes that day." That was met with a few weak cheers and she grinned, returning her gaze to the clipboard. "What else…? Oh yes the musical, _Oklahoma!_, will be this Friday and tickets are going to be on sale at lunch every day until then. I've heard good things about the show so you should all consider going." There was no response to that. "Okay. That's all I have for you today. Just hang around for a few minutes until the bell rings."

With that, she sat down at the desk and pulled out a book. She was the Junior English teacher, Castiel knew, and Gabriel said that she was the hardest teacher he had ever had. Of course, Gabriel spent more time staring at her legs (which were oftentimes very prominently displayed by her pencil skirts and high heels) than at the board or his notes. She was new this year so Castiel never had her, but she seemed nice enough. And, other than art, English was his favorite subject so Castiel couldn't understand why Gabriel wasn't fond of her.

He became so engrossed in his thoughts about why certain students didn't get along with certain teachers that Castiel didn't notice when Dean Winchester moved into the seat next to his. He almost jumped out of his chair when he heard that familiar, husky voice.

"Hey, Castiel," he said quietly in a way that Castiel instantly knew that he was about to be asked of something.

"Hello, Dean," he responded, refusing to look directly into his eyes. "Is there something you need?"

Dean coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, actually." His gaze darted around the room and Castiel watched him perplexedly. He had never seen the confident, collected Dean Winchester look anxious before. This was new for Castiel and he wasn't sure how to react.

"What is it?"

Dean coughed again. "I—uh, well…." He suddenly looked Castiel dead in the eye and Castiel felt his cheeks redden again. "Look this is gonna sound really lame but I think I need some help. You're one of the best English students, right?"

Castiel nodded. "I get consistently higher grades than almost everyone else, yes."

"Okay. I'm not doing so well. I don't get this Shakespeare crap at all and I really need to pass this course. I was wondering—uh, I guess I was hoping…." He trailed off, gesturing helplessly with his hands.

"You were wondering if I could tutor you in English?" Castiel offered, knitting his brows together.

"Yeah," Dean said, studying Castiel's face carefully as if the answer to his question was written across Castiel's forehead.

Castiel groaned inwardly. As much as he wanted to jump on the opportunity to spend time with Dean every day, he knew he couldn't. He could barely say two words to Dean when they were having casual, unimportant conversation. How could he spend an hour or so explaining the intricacies of Shakespeare coherently? It was more likely than not that Castiel would cause Dean to do even worse than he was now.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," he said slowly. Dean's face fell and Castiel wanted to take his words back right away. It was incredible to him how the simple act of frowning could have such an impact on him, and before he knew if he heard himself saying, "But I can probably make it work."

Dean's face completely lit up. "You sure? I won't take up much of your time, I swear. We can just go over the reading from the night before for like an hour or something after school. I swear I won't—"

"It's fine," Castiel cut him off. "We can meet in the library at three fifteen. Do you want to start today?"

Dean nodded frantically. "That would be great. Thank you so much, Cas. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Castiel heard the bell ring distantly, as if through a wall of water, but all he could hear clearly was the pure jubilation in Dean's voice. All he could really focus on was the look of pure joy in his face. The sound of his name, shortened affectionately, coming from Dean's lips had another strange effect on him. Castiel grinned stupidly and nodded as Dean stood up to head to first period.

"See you later," Dean called over his shoulder as he walked out the door and into the sea of people trying to get to their first classes. Castiel stood up to follow him, mulling over what he had just gotten himself into and for once not worrying about whether the outcome would be bad. He couldn't wait for three fifteen.

* * *

When Jo strolled into her homeroom class, she had her head held high and her hair hanging around her shoulders, still slightly damp from her shower after her run that morning. Her homeroom teacher, Mr. Henricksen, was already beginning to take attendance when she slid into her seat in the second row of the room. He eyed her as she settled down.

"Nice of you to join us, Miss Harvelle," he said with a quirked eyebrow.

"Sorry, sir," she apologized, though she wasn't very sincere. Mr. Henricksen was an okay teacher. He was pretty laid back when it came to getting to homeroom on time. He had a good sense of humor, too, and Jo liked his class (he taught several sections of math including her own calculus class). She also happened to be one of his favorites so she could get away with a lot under his nose and not get into trouble.

"Just don't let it happen again," he said, ticking off her name on the attendance list. "Now, where was I? Uh, Charlie Bradbury?"

Silence. Jo looked over her shoulder and saw the nerdy redhead tapping away frantically at her phone in one of the last rows of the room. She must have not heard him call her name. Jo rolled her eyes and faced front again. She didn't have a problem with Charlie but she was just too weird for Jo to relate to. The girl spent more of her time playing video games about slaying dragons or whatever than talking to real people, and Jo had no idea how she did that. It wasn't healthy for a person to live like that.

"Charlie?" Mr. Henricksen called again, eyes zeroing in on her unmistakable red hair. "Earth to Charlie." That caused titters to ripple through the room as people snorted behind their hands and made faces at the oblivious gamer girl. That wasn't okay. Jo wasn't a friend of Charlie's but she didn't like seeing anybody get treated like that. She coughed loudly and pointedly, pulling Charlie's attention away from her phone.

"What?" she asked with a dazed look on her face when she noticed most of the people in the room were staring at her.

"Just making sure you were with us," Mr. Henricksen said as he checked her name off the list as well. Charlie's eyes darted around the room. People quickly looked away if she happened to glance in their direction. Jo pursed her lips and turned back around, really wishing they would all give it a rest. Mr. Henricksen continued through the list of names, getting a muted response for most of them. People began to break off into separate conversations and Jo decided to catch up on the chemistry homework she didn't do over the weekend because of the busy nights at the bar.

"Rachel Shale."

"Here," a petite blonde girl called from the middle of the room.

"Michael Smith."

"Right here," the lazy drawl responded. Jo glanced over that the guy sitting in the front row, right by the door. He had cropped dark hair and an easy smile, but there was something about him that always screamed military at Jo. His shoulders were always straight and he looked like he was constantly at attention. He must have noticed her staring because his eyes flicked over in her direction. Jo quickly looked away, not wanting to get into something with Michael right now. He had caused her problems in the past at parties—he was known as a notorious drinker, despite his position as captain of the baseball team and the fact that he had been starting quarterback since sophomore year—and for some reason he had taken an interest in Jo at the start of senior year. More than once she had had to leave a party because he didn't know the meaning of the word _no_.

"Zachariah Thompson," Mr. Henricksen went on.

"Here," Zach responded from his seat right next to Michael. They were partners in crime. completely dependent on each other. Jo sometimes liked to joke with her friends that they were really the same person. It was extremely rare to see either of them walking by themselves in the hallway, striking terror in most of the underclassmen they passed by. Jo suspected that Michael only kept Zach around because nobody else would put up with his dickish attitude. Zach was a bottom feeder who would do anything to get to the top, and Michael held him there. Zach wasn't going to let a few snide comments take that away from him.

"Lenore Vera."

"Here," the pale brunette called.

Mr. Henricksen put his attendance sheet away and began going through the list of announcements for the week. Jo knew about all of them already. She planned on going to the musical with her mom and the Winchesters. She and Dean were being dragged along to support Sam, but she knew that even if his parents weren't making him Dean would go anyway. He had been that way about Sam since they were all toddlers, and it was something that Jo really respected about him.

"Alright do whatever you want until first period," the teacher said, starting to write on the whiteboard in preparation for his first class. Jo didn't have him until after lunch, but she still paid attention when he began to write the outline for the day's lesson out.

"So I'm sure you've heard about the party on Friday," a voice suddenly said that was far too close for comfort. Jo whipped around to see Michael sitting in the seat next to her. She hadn't noticed him get up. Looking over his shoulder, she saw Zach staring intensely at them both.

"Nope. Heard nothing about it."

Michael grinned wolfishly. "It's at Sasha Jackson's house. Her parents are gone and she's apparently got an uncle who's bought her a shitload of beer. You know she has a pool, right?"

"I've got plans on Friday," she told him flatly, looking at the surface of the desk.

"No you don't," he insisted, resting a hand on her forearm. Jo snatched it away and glared at him, but he wasn't looking at her face. Instead his gaze was falling down to the neckline of her tank top. Disgusted, Jo yanked the hem up and glared at him even more darkly, debating the pros and cons to slapping him right there. She was used to getting inappropriate looks from the bar customers, but when it was coming from this asshole it made her feel more uncomfortable than she ever had before.

"I'm. Not. Interested," she hissed darkly. Her sudden change in tone seemed to get through his thick skull for once, because he looked back up at her face and frowned.

"Maybe not this time," he said as he stood up and returned to his seat by Zach. Zach kept looking at her and for a moment he almost seemed… sad. That was weird, but Jo must have imagined it because the second Michael sat down they were both smirking at each other and sneaking glances her way.

"Alright get out of here," Mr. Henricksen said as the bell rang. "You all have classes to go to. Have a good day."

Everyone stood up at the same time, chairs squealing against the linoleum floors and quiet conversation erupting into voices fighting each other to be heard. Jo stood as well, waiting until Michael and Zach were out of the room before heading to the door. The she felt a hand on her elbow.

"Thanks," a low voice said in her ear. She turned around to see Charlie Bradbury standing right behind her, gratitude all over her face.

"Don't mention it," Jo said, gently extricating her elbow from the girl's surprisingly firm grip. It was no secret that Charlie was one of the few out gay kids at Lawrence High School. Jo had no issues with her being a lesbian, but the intimate touch felt just the least bit uncomfortable. Charlie seemed to get the message and shrugged apologetically, not seeming hurt at all by the small action.

"Yeah, well…" she trailed off, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear, and walked next to Jo as they headed into the hall. It seemed like she wanted to say something more.

"Sorry, I really need to get to class," Jo said truthfully, remembering that she had economics first and that was on the other side of the school. She felt bad about ditching Charlie like that, but she didn't really have a choice.

"Of course!" the other girl said. "I just wanted to say thanks and have a good day."

Jo smiled. That sounded like something a waitress or a cashier would say to a customer. It sounded weird coming out of the mouth of a high school student. "Yeah, you too." They parted in the halls, each heading to opposite sides of the school for first period.

* * *

Adam burst into homeroom at the same exact time the bell rang. Mr. Walker looked up from his desk, eyebrows raised, and over a dozen pairs of eyes from the other students zeroed in on him. Adam swallowed thickly as chairs scraped against the floor and voices raised in pitch. Adam fought the current of students heading to their first period class so that he could reach Mr. Walker's desk. Somebody elbowed him sharply, causing him to gasp for air.

"Hey, knock it off," somebody said sharply, and Adam saw a warm face fill his vision. She had cropped dark hair and wide, comforting green eyes. "Hey, are you alright?"

Adam nodded and rubbed at the sore spot on his ribs. "Yeah I think so."

"Sorry about those a-holes," she said, watching his hand. "They never know when enough is enough."

"I know." He looked up and saw Mr. Walker waiting patently at his desk. "Sorry, I gotta go."

The girl looked over at Mr. Walker and nodded. "Yeah, sure. See you around, Adam." She walked away before Adam realized that he didn't know her name. She hadn't spoken to him once in the whole year. For a moment, he was so perplexed that he forgot about the hulking problem just a few feet away.

"Are you going to day dream all day or are we going to talk about the fact that you're late again?" Mr. Walker barked, drawing Adam's attention back to him. Adam blanched and stood up straight, letting his hand drop to his side. The classroom was empty now, so there was nowhere to hide from the piercing gaze of Mr. Walker.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, moving a little closer to the enemy. "But technically I was here when the bell rang, so that's not really late, is it?" He stared pleadingly into a stony face, realizing that whatever he said was hopeless. "What's my punishment?" he asked, lowering his head in shame. Mr. Walker stood there menacingly for a moment, and then he went and sat down at his desk. The whole feel of the room changed. Adam looked up and saw his teacher looking at him more out of pity than anger. His dark, dark eyes were softer now than Adam had ever seen them before and the frown that usually was Mr. Walkers default expression had transformed into a friendly half-smile.

"What's going on with you, Adam?" he asked. All of the frustration was gone. "Your grades have been slipping, you're getting more consistent in being late, and I've noticed you changing. Is there anything I can do?"

That took Adam off guard. He expected shouting and a month of detentions and disappointment. This was a complete curveball. "Wh-what?" he stammered, unsure how to respond.

"Is it another student that's bothering you?" Mr. Walker went on. "Because you know you can report bullying to the school councilor."

"I… uh…."

"We can help you here, Adam." He stood up and placed a firm, warm hand on Adam's shoulder. "As much as most high school students believe that teachers are devil spawn, we actually _want_ to see our students succeed. Now is there anything you want to talk about?"

Adam looked at the dark, dry hand on his shoulder and felt the strange urge to cry. His father had skipped out on his mom when Adam was still sleeping in a crib and drinking milk from a bottle. Since then Adam had been the man of the house and he had never had this kind of sturdy reassurance before. With his mother, he had always felt like the one who needed to keep her from falling to pieces. Raising a kid on your own wasn't easy. Once Adam was old enough to realize how hard it was, all he had felt like was a burden. Now somebody was offering to share the load and lend a helping hand and his brain felt like shutting down.

"I'm fine," he said quickly before he could think about it more.

Mr. Walker seemed disappointed for a moment and then he smiled sadly. "Okay, but know if you're having problems with anybody at all you can talk to me, the councilor, or the principal, okay? We want you to be safe and happy, Adam." He still held on to Adam's shoulder firmly, making sure that he understood the message. Adam nodded curtly and pulled himself away.

"Thank you, Mr. Walker," he said mechanically as he backed toward the door. Just because he was technically on time for school didn't mean he wanted to be technically late for first period. It was Biology and Mrs. Mills wouldn't be happy to have him barge in in the middle of her lesson.

"Anytime, Adam, anytime," his teacher said as Adam retreated into the hallway which was still teeming with students.


	3. Chapter 3

"Gabriel, can you please tell me what I just told the rest of the class?" Ms. Talbot snapped. Gabriel's head shot up at the sound of his name and he blinked a few times to clear his hazy vision. Most of the eyes in the room were trained on him and Ms. Talbot had her arms crossed over her chest, regarding him with a glare that would make stronger men weep. He steeled himself and put on a brave smile.

"That there will be no homework this evening?" That earned a few giggles from the rest of the class. He could see that the snake woman (his affectionate nickname for her) was not amused.

"On the contrary, you have a test on Thursday," she said mockingly sweetly. "So I really hope you have finished the book by then."

Gabriel bit back another snarky retort. Whenever his grades were in question, it was best to let the teacher think that she was superior. He nodded and settled back into his seat, allowing her to return to the start of the lesson. The rest of the class turned to face forward except for Gabriel's best friend, Balthazar White. He kept smirking at Gabriel until Gabriel flipped him off while Ms. Talbot's back was turned. Balthazar laughed quietly, the laugh lines momentarily deepening around his eyes and forehead, and then turned back to face the front.

Gabriel worried about that fact that it was getting easier and easier for him to doze off in classes now. He used to be able to make it through at least twenty minutes before there was a drool stain on the blank page of his notebook, but now in some classes it took no more than five minutes of the teacher droning on about how exams were coming up and that they needed to buckle down and get working for Gabriel to completely check out. That could mean only one thing: summer break was near. The warm April air drifting in through the open windows was enough to make Gabriel's head spin with the tantalizing thoughts of sleeping in every day and not having to listen to the snake woman. He almost lost himself in his daydreams again when a loud bang snapped him out of it.

"Meg," Ms. Talbot said, sounding surprised. Gabriel looked at the door of the classroom, which was the source of the loud bang, like every other student and saw the infamous Meg Masters swagger in, swaying her hips and eyeing everybody from under dark lashes. Everything about her was dark, from her long wavy hair to the color of her boots. Gabriel looked her up and down appreciatively, enjoying the view.

"Did you get a late slip from the principal's office?" Ms. Talbot asked, causing Meg's gaze to dance to her. Gabriel could swear that she flinched but the movement was so slight that nobody else could have picked up on it.

Wordlessly, Meg reached out, handing a flimsy sheet of paper over to the teacher and then taking a seat in the very back of the room. Everybody watched her go past, the boys eyeing her up and down and the girls glaring at her with envy and intimidation all over their carefully made up faces. Meg Masters obviously had a very well known reputation at Lawrence High School. She and her friend Ruby, the girl she was sitting beside now, both were known for getting their hands on 'recreational substances' as the student handbook put it, but neither were dumb enough to get caught. Gabriel knew he would never join them, but he had to admit that when somebody had a reputation that big and still managed to get away with it, it was impressive.

As if they could sense his eyes on them, both dark haired girls looked at him at the same time with challenging stares. They moved like one person, and that creepiness was enough to get Gabriel to look away and not turn back. He squirmed around in his seat, trying to focus in on the lesson again but that was nearly impossible. He could practically feel those dark eyes burning into his back, and he wasn't sure if it was a pleasant sensation or something that made his skin crawl. Balthazar had been watching the exchange. He waved to get Gabriel's attention and gestured to his lap repetitively. Gabriel was about to mouth at him '_what the fuck, dude?_' when he saw the light of Balthazar's phone glowing against the underside of the desk. Oh. Making sure that Ms. Talbot's back was turned, he pulled out his own phone and set it on silent. Almost immediately a text from Balthazar popped up on the screen.

_Keep it in your pants, man_

Gabriel rolled his eyes at his friend and decided it was best not to respond. He wasn't really sure how to, if hew as being honest with himself, which was shocking because he was always the one with the sarcastic comments and the clever quips. Ms. Talbot was looking out at the class again anyway and after calling him out for dozing off, he was sure getting caught texting in the middle of class wouldn't be so great for their relationship. Balthazar laughed silently, a knowing look on his face, and shook his head.

"So, what did we think of Chapter Seven?" Ms. Talbot said, lifting her copy of _The Great Gatsby_ over her head for everybody to see. "Initial thoughts?"

Gabriel planted his hands on the desk and took a deep breath. Even though for the time being his head was filled with thoughts of Meg Masters, he was determined to focus on the lesson. It wasn't like he actually read the book or anything, so maybe he could learn a thing or two before failing the test on Thursday.

* * *

Dean gnawed at his tongue as he tried to draw a straight line, failing miserably. He had spent the last fifteen minutes trying to draw a straight line, but for some reason his hand wouldn't stay steady.

"Dude, what's your problem?" Jo asked, smirking uncertainly at the look of pure frustration on his face. He growled and threw the pencil down, wanting more than anything to chuck his project out the window.

"I suck at art, that's the problem. I don't even know why I have to take this fucking class." He looked down at the poor sketch he was trying to do of the wineglass on a pedestal in the middle of the room and frowned. It wasn't that bad, he knew, but just generally frustrated at life at the moment and it was easy to take it out on the drawing. But of course it was that exact moment that Ms. Barnes decided to sidle over, peeking over her students' shoulders to check on their progress. She stopped between Dean and Jo's stools, taking a long moment to survey each drawing before them.

"Beautiful shading there," she said, pointing to the shadows on Jo's drawing. Jo beamed and continued with the section she was working on. Ms. Barnes glanced over at Dean, noticing the fact that his pencil was halfway across the table and he looked frustrated. "Something the matter, honey?" she asked, retrieving his pencil for him and pushing it back into his hand.

"Nope, perfectly fine," he lied through his teeth. He wasn't fine. He hadn't been since he spoke to Castiel Novak in homeroom. They had only ever spoken a few times before, and every time Dean thought that Castiel was some forgettable, geeky, awkward kid who was really good in English. For some reason today he just _saw_ him. It was true that he had been looking for somebody to tutor him in English (because Dean had just as good a chance of understanding it if Shakespeare had been writing in hieroglyphics), but more than anything the prospect of hearing that gravelly voice explain it to him made Dean more than excited to learn about it.

"Well don't stress yourself out," Ms. Barnes said, reminding Dean that he was in Art Class and not the library after school. "You've got a great start there. Keep it up, kiddo." She smiled and winked at him and continued on down the rows of students, making encouraging or constructive comments here and there.

"Do you still find it weird how she acts like that?" Jo mused quietly, eyes not leaving her paper. Dean shrugged.

"It's just kinda usual now. I mean it freaked me out in freshman year." He snorted, pulling his pencil from the page again. "Remember our first class?"

Jo glanced up and giggled. "You looked like you shit your pants when she first called you sweetheart."

"Shut up." Dean grinned and felt the tightness in his shoulders loosening a little. Talking to Jo always had that affect on him. She was the little sister he never wanted and she always knew what to say to get him out of bad moods, even if she didn't realize she was doing it.

"So you're okay, right?" she asked, the light mood dripping away. "I know you're not stressed about the stupid drawing. It's not about your parents, is it?"

Dean shook his head. She was the only person who knew how frequently his folks were at each other's throats. He told her about everything, which was weird for him because he never thought of himself as the bitching type. Somehow she just managed to get everything out of him whenever they had a conversation, and it didn't freak him out at all like it would with somebody else. Except Sam of course, but Sam was a given.

"No," she agreed, studying his face. "You look too happy. What, did you get laid this weekend or something?"

He chucked and shook his head. "Uh, no not exactly." Then he paused, jerking his head back. Not exactly? Even to himself that sounded weird. Was he expecting himself to get with Castiel? What he hell? He was just going to get tutored by the guy, and Dean wasn't really into dudes. He liked girls and thought about kissing girls and stuff, but he had an open mind about stuff like for as long as he can remember. It wasn't like hooking up with a guy made him want to vomit or anything. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and saw Jo staring at him expectantly.

"What the hell is up with you today?" she laughed. "You seriously look like a lovesick puppy. Who is it?"

He shook his head again. "Nobody. None of your business."

"Your business is my business," she persisted. "Lay it on me."

Dean knew that this was one battle she was not going to win. With his lips pressed firmly together, he bent his head toward his drawing and placed the tip of the pencil at the place where he wanted that goddamn straight line to start. Tentatively, he began to trace it slowly across the page. It looked straight. He felt a growing sense of pride and accomplishment until his hand jerked suddenly, making the tip skitter sideways. He realized that Jo still hadn't taken her eyes off of him. She was stifling laughter but he could see she was barely containing herself.

"Fuck this," he growled, angrily erasing the line again. Still, the sight of Jo almost convulsing into fits of giggles forced a reluctant smile across his own face. "Fuck you," he shot at her, but that only made her laugh harder.

* * *

Senioritis was literally the worst thing in the history of worst things. Like it was worse than your spaceship being boarded by Storm Troopers and being held captive by Darth Vader. It was worse than thinking the Triwizard Cup was just a cup but it turning out to be a portkey that transports you into the clutches of creepy pre-transformation vampire baby Lord Voldemort. It sucked, and with days like this were it was bright and sunny all Charlie could think about was not being in high school anymore.

But, honestly, she had had senioritis since the first day of freshman year.

She was always the oddball out. That encounter she had with Jo Harvelle this morning was a perfect example of how people acted around her _all the time_. She had been an out lesbian since coming into high school, so it was nothing new for her to be openly mocked and sometimes physically attacked for her sexual orientation, and she was fine with that. Well, not really okay with the whole attacking thing, but she could tolerate it now. People could be small-minded asshats if they wanted to be. What she couldn't stand, though, was the uncertainty and the quiet awkwardness that she got from most people, like Jo. It wasn't like Charlie was a new species of human, but from the actions of her peers one would think so. They had no idea how to act around her. Once the outward hostility faded away a little, all that was left was the confusion.

So she was the one who sat alone at lunch (except when Ed and Harry had the same lunch period as her which was only on Thursdays). So that was why she always sat in the place in class where she was least noticeable. So that was why nobody at this goddamn school knew anything about her except Ed and Harry. So it was no wonder she wanted to get the hell out of dodge.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and Charlie jerked out of her dreams of not-high school.

_Can you drive me over to your place after school today? _It was from Ed.

_Why?_ she typed back, making routine glances at the board to make sure that Mr. Henricksen was focused on the diagram he was drawing of an ellipse. He had his back to her.

_Mom and stepdad are having issues again._

Charlie bit at her lip and frowned at the screen of her phone. She and Harry were the only two people who knew just how screwed up Ed's family life was. He refused to talk about it until a few months ago, and even now it was hard to get any information out of him. Charlie sometimes suspected, from strange bruises appearing on his arms and legs that things were worse than he let on, but she didn't want to make him uncomfortable by pressing.

_No problem. We can start the LOTR party early :)_

His response was almost immediate. _Thanks Charles _

She rolled her eyes at that stupid nickname he had started using at the beginning of this year. She hated it but for some reason she kept letting him use it. The things best friends do for each other, she thought with a slight grin.

_Where are we gonna meet? _She texted, sliding the phone farther under her desk as Mr. Henricksen looked out at the classroom. He was answering another student's question, so no worries.

_I've got to meet with Mr. Singer to go over a paper so I'll be in the library_

_I can wait there for you_, Charlie offered. She loved the library here. Whenever she had a free period that was where she could be found, curled up in a chair reading or working on some homework that should have been done the night before.

_Okay sounds good_

_What class are you in?_ There was no way she was going to pay attention to calculus so why bother trying?

_Spanish_

_Ew haha _

He took a little longer to respond and Charlie regrettably retained a bit of the formula that Mr. Henricksen was using to solve the equation on the board. She cursed math and continued to check her phone compulsively until it vibrated again.

_Sorry almost got caught gotta go doing group class stuff_

She frowned again. There goes her distraction. Sighing, she typed, _Have fun_, and shut her phone off. There was only fifteen minutes left in the period at that point. Maybe it was a short enough time that she didn't have to fall asleep to stay alive. Any minute now she knew she would start drowning in her senioritis again. There was no hope for her, so she simply stared out the window at the clear blue sky.

* * *

Castiel wasn't in school anymore. He was on Tralfamadore with Billy Pilgrim. Then he was in the war with American soldiers, braving the bombing at Dresden in a misused slaughterhouse. He wasn't in Lawrence, Kansas just then. He was in the world of _Slaughterhouse Five_ by Kurt Vonnegut.

That was something that Castiel always prided himself on—the ability to completely lose himself in a story told by somebody else. A few times he had tried to tell his own stories through writing, but he found that he was much better suited to follow along with somebody else's tale than create his own. Reading was his favorite thing to do and always would be.

Within books, Castiel understood people. He could get inside the main character's head and understand the motivation behind an action or the reason for an intense emotion. He didn't have to sit there, puzzling over why somebody looked sad or upset as he had to in the real world. He didn't have to try to make up a conversation with the characters because they would feel neutral toward him no matter what he said. He didn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing or implying something that he did not mean. It was the relationship that he always wanted with people, but something that he could never achieve in actuality. Nobody was as perfect or as perfectly flawed as the characters from his beloved books.

Glancing up from the worn pages of his copy of _Slaughterhouse Five_ (a rare occurrence, because once Castiel was sucked into the story he rarely came up for air), he let his gaze flick around the small groups of students in the library. Most of them were whispering quietly together, heads bent over homework that really should have been done last night before. Some were on the dock of ancient computers on the far wall, very obviously not doing homework, too. Castiel was the only one using the library for the originally intended purpose of a library: reading. Every Monday he would come here to read for first period. Sometimes people would tell him how lucky he was for having a free period first on a Monday, but he couldn't see it as anything different from his other free periods.

He was about to look down at his book again, ready to be absorbed back into Vonnegut's words, when something caught his eye. A girl, sitting at one of the worktables on the far side of the room, was looking right at him. She had red hair and a wide smile, which she was flashing at Castiel right now.

He knew her name—Anna Milton—but other than that she was a complete stranger to him. She wasn't even a senior, he was certain, but a junior. He knew nothing her reputation nor of what was considered a 'good' reputation, but she was clearly doing homework and he didn't want to disturb her so with a slight nod in her direction he returned to his book.

She had other ideas, though, because in the next moment Castiel heard the _thunk_ of a bag being dropped and the creak of a chair. His eyes darted up and saw Anna Milton standing over him with that same warm smile stretched across a pretty face.

"Is it alright if I sit here?" she asked pleasantly, taking a seat before he could answer. Castiel shrugged, not seeing the point in responding if she was going to sit down anyway. He hoped that she wouldn't make much noise with her books because he really wanted to finish the chapter he was reading before the bell rang for second period. He had American Government and Mr. Devereaux would _not_ be pleased with him being late again.

"You know… I've been trying to get your attention for most of the period," Anna said, crossing her legs and raising her eyebrows at Castiel. He looked up again, forcing the irritation out of his expression and pursed his lips. He knew that his younger brother would say something funny at this point and would make her laugh. Castiel had no clue how to make people laugh, so he shrugged again and said, "If you wanted my attention you could have come over and talked to me." Of course, he wouldn't have liked that either because he was at his favorite part in _Slaughterhouse Five,_ and if she had interrupted him earlier he would have probably been more irked.

She giggled. "I think you're cute."

Castiel tilted his head to the side. Was that how you got people to laugh? He knew the response to her comment, though. Gabriel had driven it into his brain a long time ago. "Thank you," he muttered.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go get coffee after school."

That was something that surprisingly didn't confuse him. She was asking him on a date. He had read enough books with scenes like this in them to understand what her words meant. She liked him and wanted to go on a date with him. Castiel felt a little swell of pride at understanding just a little bit more of the intricacies that was socializing in high school.

"I'm tutoring Dean Winchester after school, today," he said suddenly, like a reflex. He saw Anna's face fall a little, but she was still smiling at him.

"That's fine." She paused for a moment and reached into her bag, producing a black pen. Looking around for a moment and realizing there was no paper, Anna grabbed Castiel's hand and began to etch numbers onto his skin. It stung, but not enough to warrant a response. "This is my cell. Call me sometime, okay?"

Castiel looked down at the tiny black digits and nodded. Somehow, he knew that he wouldn't call that number. She beamed at him and stood up, hoisting her backpack up from the ground.

"I'll see you around, Castiel," she said with a wave and wandered off. Castiel sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted from the conversation, and settled back into his chair. There must still be a little time in the period. He still had a chance to finish—

Just then was when the bell chose to ring, and with a quiet sigh he closed _Slaughterhouse Five_ and packed up for his next period.

* * *

He looked so happy, sitting next to the incantation of perfection: Jessica Moore. Becky had been fully aware that Sam Winchester had eyes for her from the first day he set foot in Lawrence High School and the first day she set eyes on him. Now that they were almost done with their first year of high school and he wasn't officially her one true love, Becky felt the seeds of doubt in her mind about marrying him. That doubt was two rows of seats in front of her and flipping her perfect blonde hair over her perfectly tan shoulder.

"Do you have a spare piece of paper?" a voice asked, and Becky broke her staring contest with Sam's wavy hair to glance venomously at the person who had disturbed her. It was Garth Fitzgerald, probably one of the strangest people she had ever met. Becky had to do a group project with him once and he basically did all of the work and put her name on it. She hadn't complained and they hadn't spoken again. Mostly, Becky avoided him because after they finished the project he had said, "This shit's been _Garthed_."

"I ran out of paper in my notebook…" he explained, gesturing to the last page of a spiral notebook. The page was crammed with cramped pencil marks and little diagrams. Becky had never seen such detailed notes for Geometry before. Wordlessly, though, she ripped a page out of her own notebook (not nearly as filled as Garth's) and passed it over to him. He mumbled a word of thanks and then returned his full attention to Mr. Campbell's lecture on whatever. Becky hadn't actually heard a single word of the lesson because all of her senses were trained on the sound of Sam's quiet exchanges with his friend group. Becky was never a part of those conversations.

"So, can anybody tell me the length of this side? Becky?" Mr. Campbell said, training his sharp gaze on her. Becky jerked like she had been shocked and looked at her math teacher like he had just spoken Chinese at her.

"I'm sorry?" she gasped, feeling the eyes of a majority of the class on her. The only pair of eyes that really mattered stayed turned away.

"Can you tell me the length of this side?" her teacher repeated, gesturing to the diagram of a parallelogram on the whiteboard. Becky stared at it, but no clever answer presented itself to her. She shook her head, her mouth hanging open a little bit, and was about to admit that she hadn't been paying attention.

"Radical three," Garth hissed suddenly, low enough so that Mr. Campbell didn't hear. He was still waiting for Becky to give him the answer. She glanced at Garth out of the corner of her eye and he nodded encouragingly.

Swallowing, she repeated what he told her and Mr. Campbell nodded, grinning. "Good job." He continued writing equations on the board and explaining the process.

"Thanks," Becky whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

"No prob," he replied a little louder than he should have given that it was the middle of class. Mr. Campbell didn't turn around, thankfully. Becky was about to resume her staring match with Sam's glossy locks of hair when Garth added, "You know, if you just wanna spend the rest of your time in freshman year Geometry looking at that back of Sam's head, I've got your back if you get called on. None of Baldy's questions will go unanswered." He chuckled at his own joke, even though there was no humor in it, really.

Becky blushed a deeper shade of red and practically choked on her own spit. Garth just grinned at her like he just offered her the best deal on a used car, completely oblivious to the fact that he said that really, _really_ loudly. She wasn't sure how many heads turned, but the one that Becky really cared about was blonde and perfect. Jessica Moore quirked an eyebrow at her and Garth, smiling like somebody who had just seen a kid do something really gross, and turned back to the front of the room. She hadn't said anything, but the look in those perfect blue eyes felt like a slap across the face. There was no doubting that she had heard, and if Jess had heard then Sam must have, too.

Becky dropped her forehead against the desk, wishing she could drown herself in a puddle of misery and never have to face the hallway after this. People would have a heyday with new taunts.

"You alright, Becky?" Garth asked, gently prodding her arm. That made her go stiff like a board. With a hand clenched like a claw, she swatted him away and refused to look at his dorkishly round face. This was all his fault, and no matter how good his intentions were she was never _ever_ going to forgive him. He didn't try to ask if she was feeling okay again, and that made her feel even a little successful. She would take the good feelings wherever she could get them just then.

" Can anybody give me the answer?" Mr. Campbell asked, surveying the classroom of half-asleep students. "Anybody?" Sam's flannel coated arm rose into the air, and Becky looked away very pointedly. He answered it correctly, of course, and Mr. Campbell scrawled the answer across the board.

"Great, so, this is what your homework is going to look like," the teacher said, gesturing to the entirety of the board and all of its complex drawings of parallelograms and angles and sides and things that didn't make any sense at all to Becky. "Since your interim grades are due in pretty soon, this will be for a grade so please don't just copy the answers off of somebody else for once." There were a few low laughs throughout the room. "I mean it. Actually put in effort, okay?"

There was a murmur of assent from the class, and then as if on cue the bell rang and first period ended. Becky's blood turned cold as everyone else began packing up their things and breaking up into conversations. Sam and his friends were some of the first out the door, but Becky caught Jess's eye one last time before the other girl disappeared into the hallway beside Sam. Becky heaved a sigh of relief and gathered her things. At least there would be no awkward encounters with Sam's soon-to-be-real-life girlfriend. That was probably number one on Becky's list of things that she did not want to happen.

"Hey, Becky," a loud and very clearly masculine voice called from the back of the class. She knew what was coming, so she didn't even bother turning. This, as it was, was number two on her list of things that she did not want to happen. "Becky! Can you do me a favor and not sit behind me in class? I don't want you staring at me the whole time." That was greeted by a chorus of laughs that sounded more like Neanderthals than high school boys. Becky bit her lip, tugged her plaid skirt down, and, with her head held high, strutted out of the classroom without ever once facing the pack of jerks.

Of course, her trials weren't over. This was high school. What did she expect?

Number One on her list was waiting outside of the classroom for her.

Jessica Moore smiled at Becky when she came out of the room, as if she were greeting an old friend or a sister. Becky recoiled unconsciously from the friendly face. After just narrowly missing out on serious verbal torment from inside the Math room, she did not want to have to face it out here. She tried to escape into the steady flow of students fighting to get to second period, but she felt a gentle hand grip her forearm and drag her back out of the main current.

"Becky Rose, right?" Jess asked, still with her hand in the crook of Becky's arm.

"It's actually Rosen."

Jess faltered for a moment, but then nodded apologetically and removed her hand. Maybe she was sure that Becky wasn't going to try and run away or maybe she wanted her to, but Becky stayed where she stood. For some reason, Jess didn't look hostile or ready to humiliate her. On the contrary, she still looked genuinely friendly and apologetic.

"I'm sorry about Garth," she said. "And about what happened in there. That was really rude of him."

Becky raised her eyebrows and backed up a step, unsure of how to respond to that. The last thing that she had expected from Jessica Moore, the perfect girl on Sam Winchester's arm, was sympathy. She could put up with the name calling, the goading taunts, and everything else high school had to throw at her, but this was new and it made her uncomfortable in a new way that was almost bearable. It felt like she was completely and undeniably exposed.

"Uh… thanks…."

Jess beamed. "You should sit with me at lunch today. You have fifth period lunch, right?"

Becky nodded, unable to make a sound.

"Great, I'll see you then."

She flounced down the hall, presumably to her next class, leaving Becky in her wake still in awe at how events had unfolded.


	4. Chapter 4

There she was again, walking down the hall on her own. Adam spied the dark haired girl who had brushed by him before his talk with Mr. Walker. He recognized her shining black hair right away, and he wondered for a moment why he had never noticed it before. She had a look to her that was strikingly unforgettable, yet somehow people's eyes skirted over her like she was invisible.

"Hey!" Adam called, but his voice was lost in the din of the bustling hallway. Loud voices were echoing off of the lockers and linoleum floors as everybody fought to get to their next class. "Hey…!" he tried again, about to call out her name, but he recalled that he had no idea what she was named. That bothered him more than he would admit, so he resolved that he must learn it now. Shoving by a group of freshmen that gave him dirty looks, Adam made his way down the corridor to catch up with her. Just as he was about to finally catch up to her, though, the strange girl was stopped by somebody else. Adam halted and stood behind a bunch of juniors in varsity jackets. They were completely oblivious to his presence.

"Good morning, Mr. Morte," the girl greeted, her pleasant voice rising over the ruckus. Adam studied the person she was talking to for the first time and grimaced. It was the guidance councilor. He scared Adam more than anybody else he knew. This man, hunched over but still towering over everybody else in the school, always dressed in cheap looking black suits and slicked his oily hair back from his forehead. He was gaunt and bony, like there was no muscle or fat on him at all. His dark eyes were sunken into his head so deeply that they were almost always shrouded in shadows, no matter the lighting. Adam had never gotten the chance to go meet with him and he never intended to. Mr. Morte gave him the creeps.

"And good morning to you," the guidance councilor replied. He didn't smile—Mr. Morte never smiled—but if he had been more of a _normal_ person, then Adam was sure he would have. He seemed genuinely happy about the fact that he was talking to that girl.

"We're still meeting this afternoon, right?" she asked, her voice dropping a bit. Adam struggled to hear her.

"Unless you have other plans."

The girl bobbed her head, her dark hair swinging wildly. "No, of course not. Thank you, Mr. Morte."

"I'll see you then, Tessa."

_Tessa_. Adam grinned, glad that he finally could put a name to the face. Now, looking at her, he wondered how he never knew that was her name. It suited her, but he couldn't say why.

"Thank you, sir," she called after Mr. Morte as he passed her and glided down the hall. As Adam watched, he noticed that his head and shoulders hardly moved like a normal person's gait. Again, Adam swore to himself that he would never force himself to go meet with the guidance councilor. He couldn't fathom why Tessa seemed excited about their meeting that afternoon.

"Tessa," he said under his breath, whipping his head around to find her. She had disappeared in the sea of students, thinning now as the clock inched closer to the beginning of second period. The group of juniors that Adam had been crouching behind had dissipated a few moments ago, so he surged into the crowd, scanning the backs of heads for a shock of glossy black hair. He saw her turn the corner just ahead of him, going down a wing he had no classes in. He knew that he was going to be late for his art class but Ms. Barnes wouldn't mind. For some reason this felt like a last chance, so he ran to catch her as if his life depended on it.

"Hey, Tessa!" he called just as he rounded the corner. She wasn't far ahead of him now, and the crowd was thinning. She heard him clear as day. He smiled stupidly as she turned around, a question on her face.

"What's up?" she greeted a little slowly, as if she was trying to figure out what he was doing talking to her.

"I—I, uh…." He stopped. He had no clue as to why he wanted to talk to her so badly.

She nodded and bit her lip, like she was trying to hold herself back from saying something. Adam blinked rapidly and spat out the first thing that came to mind.

"I like your shoes."

That seemed to take her by surprise. Tessa cocked her head at Adam and glanced down at her feet, maybe to remind herself as to what shoes she was wearing or hide away from his unblinking gaze. Adam mentally smacked himself. _I like your shoes?_ What kind of a dumb conversation starter was that?

"Uh… thanks. I've had them forever."

Adam glanced down at her shoes for the first time, noticing that they were plain black combat boots. They were a little scuffed around the edges and the laces looked worn down, but for some reason they made him smile. They really did look like she had worn them many times.

"I actually wanted to say thanks," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Yeah. That sounded good. "Thanks for what you said this morning."

"Oh, that?" She grinned and waved her hand. "It was nothing."

"It was nice." He didn't know where to go from there. Looking around, he noticed that they were basically alone in the hallway, both late for second period. She seemed like she was itching to go and he didn't want to get her into trouble.

"I'll see you around, though," he said, giving her the opportunity to go.

She seemed to try to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Adam heard her mutter something under her breath that sounded like "unlikely". She looked darkly at the ground for a moment, and then she brightly said goodbye, smiling in Adam's face and jogged into the first door on her right.

_What the heck just happened?_ he thought to himself as he turned on his heel, walking down the silent hallways to the art room. It felt like he was just spun in a circle, and he had no idea which way he was heading now. Tessa was an odd girl, but he really did hope he would get the chance to talk to her again. He could work with strange.

* * *

Meg glided through the door to the science lab, taking a seat in the back of the room as always. Physics was one of those rare classes that she didn't have with Ruby so she had to make due with texting to get through the forty-five minutes. Like usual, Mrs. Mills came barging into the room at the last minute before the bell rang with a stack of papers gripped to her chest and a flustered look on her face. She taught three other science classes, Meg knew, so she was always running around the school trying to be on time.

_More free time for us_, Meg thought to herself with a smirk.

"Hey guys," Mrs. Mills said brightly as she set her things down on a desk in the front of the classroom. "So you all remember that we're doing a lab today, right?" She smiled like it was the biggest treat she could give them. There was no response from the class. It was only second period after all, and there was only so much energy they could show that early in the morning.

"Love the enthusiasm," she went on, undeterred. Meg watched as she started pulling things out of drawers on her desk. "As you all know—hopefully—we've been learning about waves this past week." She set down a large plastic container and a few silver Slinkys on the wooden surface, looking out at the class again. "So this is what we're gonna do."

That's where Meg decided that she didn't give a shit about waves or pulses or whatever. She slid her phone out of her pocket and saw that Ruby was already tired of her own class.

_Do you think I could get away with murder? I really want to kill this teacher. _

Meg rolled her eyes. Ruby was always so dramatic. It was really irritating, actually. She responded, saying, _What class? _

_History. Like I give a fuck about people building railroads. Who actually cares about this? _

_Idk_

_So what the hell was up with you last night?_

Meg glanced up at the board, where Mrs. Mills was drawing some diagram that was important for the lab. The text she sent back read, _Idk what you're talking about _

_You just left without saying anything _

_So?_

_And you were acting weird _

_Again, so? _

_I was just wondering what's up_

Meg sighed and let the phone rest in her lap, the screen still glowing from Ruby's last message. This was wrong. They weren't the kind of friends who shared all of their little thoughts and feelings. They didn't ask how each other's day was and they never offered the information. Why Ruby was fucking with that now, Meg had no idea, but she sure as hell didn't like it.

_Nothing. Still meeting at lunch?_

This time, the response didn't come instantly, so Meg forced herself to listen. She tuned into Mrs. Mills's pre-lab lecture to hear that she was getting paired with Balthazar White. It took everything for her to not hiss at the idea. Balthazar was an idiot and he wasn't the kind of person who would just do the work and accept that Meg didn't give a shit. He would expect her to work and make conversation.

"So get to it," the teacher said, waving her hands like a conductor. Meg didn't move. If Balthazar really wanted to get this lab done he was coming to her. It wasn't long before he did just that, sidling up to the side of her desk with a smirk on his face.

"Hey, partner," he said languidly. Meg rolled her eyes at that, lamenting the fact that she was going to have to listen to that annoying British accent for the rest of the rest of the period. Since he had transferred here in the middle of freshman year Meg had prickled at the sound of that voice. He was just one of those people that set her off.

"So we should get started," he said, setting one of the large plastic containers down on the desk and producing a slinky. She hadn't noticed that he had already gotten them.

"Yeah you get on that, slapstick." She shot an icy glance at him, feeling frustrated that his expression remained unchanging. Just then a faint buzz came from her phone, Ruby's name lighting up the screen.

_Yeah I've got it _

Meg, of course, knew exactly what she meant by 'it'. Thankfully, she only had to wait two more periods before heading out to the shed and losing herself in the countless drags of a smoke. Maybe by then Ruby would shut up about the Dr. Phil talk and be back to how she usually was—a cold-hearted bitch.

"That was a creative nickname, congratulations." Balthazar thrust the tub under the little faucet installed in every desk and filled it up halfway with water, just like he was instructed. Meg rolled her eyes again at the sarcastic bite to his words. Of course, they rolled right off her like everybody else's comments. Nothing could get through her armor.

"So do you want to play with the slinky, or shall I?" he went on, shaking the silver coil in her face.

"Oh look at you, you made a sexual innuendo. I'm so impressed." She sneered at him and replied to Ruby's text, not really saying anything and just using the phone as a pretense to not look Balthazar in the face.

He didn't respond to that, actually surprising Meg. He seemed like the kind of guy that would take any chance to make a snarky comment. Begrudgingly, she snatched the slinky out of his hand and started following the directions on the board, twitching her wrist and sending a pulse of movement down the length of the toy and timing it. At least, that's what she assumed she was supposed to be doing. Glancing around the room, she saw other lab partners doing the same thing. The room filled with the soft sound of metal bumping against the faux wood tops of the desks, the splashing of water from people measuring the waves caused by dropping things in the tubs, and the rising voices of the students. Most people seemed to be enjoying themselves, laughing and trying to splash each other with water. Mrs. Mills would step in before the room turned into a splash zone.

"What reading did you get on that?" Balthazar asked, dragging her attention back to the lab.

"One point three seconds."

He scribbled something down in his notebook and nodded thoughtfully, as if he thought he actually was a scientist doing research on wave patterns. Meg smirked at the top of his sandy colored head, but wiped her face blank before he looked up again.

"Now that's not so hard, is it?" he said, shooting her a sugary sweet smile.

"What?"

"Being cordial," he explained, still with that weird look on his face. It was making Meg beyond uncomfortable.

"Yeah well keep looking at me like that and you'll see how _cordial_ I can be," she snapped, bristling. Balthazar didn't exactly get the message.

"You're not fooling me, you know."

Meg froze. She had been about drop a marble into the water. Her hand hovered over the tub, quivering slightly. "What do you mean by that?" she asked quietly, not betraying the stab of fear she felt in the pit of her stomach. She let the marble fall from her hand.

"Everyone's got problems," he explained as Meg counted the ripples caused by the marble. When she didn't respond, he went on, saying, "We all have things we don't want to talk about. You don't have to act like you're superior all the time."

Meg laughed darkly. "My only problem right now is the fact that you're talking. So shut the fuck up and get working."

He pursed his lips and jotted down a few more things into his notebook. Meg did the same, recording her results on a stray piece of paper, but she didn't really know what she was writing. That was twice today that people tried to really talk to her rather than the usual slut calls and whispered remarks in the hallways.

Meg wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh about it or cry.

* * *

Mr. Shurley sat back in his chair, letting the room fill with noise. He had just assigned pairs of students to analyze a passage from _Macbeth _and say how it connects to the rest of the play. Sam noticed, as they got closer to the end of the year, that he tended to do that more and more. Maybe the teachers were petering out just like the rest of them.

"Do you want me to read the Lady Macbeth part?" Jess inquired lightly, eyeing Sam over the cover of her book. He grinned, flattening his own second-hand copy on the desk.

"Unless you want me to read her…"

Jess snorted and focused down at the page. _"Under my battlements. Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, and fill me from the crown to the toe top-full of direst cruelty!" _

Sam wasn't sure if he was supposed to read a line next or not because all he could think about was how well she read Shakespeare. It was no wonder that she had ended up taking an interest in theatre because she was really great at it. Sam always stumbled over his words, so hearing that kind of language come flowing out from between her lips with such ease never failed to impress him.

Jess glanced up again and blushed. "What, do I have something on my face?"

He shook his head quickly, shaking his hair across his face. Unconsciously, he brushed the longer locks away from his forehead. "No, no, I was just thinking about how great you are at reading this stuff."

She shrugged and arranged her features into a playfully serious expression. "Well, who knows? Maybe I'm secretly a star Shakespearean actor."

Sam chuckled and mirrored her seriousness. "If you are, I swear I won't tell anyone. Your secret identity is safe with me, Miss Moore."

Jess snorted a bit unceremoniously, causing her to blush even deeper pink. "I swear to God nobody has ever called me Miss Moore except teachers. And you're making me sound like some kind of Shakespearean superhero."

"One might think so from the way you read it."

She laughed and placed a hand on Sam's forearm. He could feel the heat of her palm radiating through the flannel. "If I'm a Shakespearean superhero then you're going to have to be my bumbling, adorable sidekick."

"I'll only be there for comedic relief, of course."

"No! When the evil… shorthand texting villain captures me and traps me in his underground secret lair you will swoop in and save the day with your remarkable ability to recite Shakespeare at him."

They both stopped for a second, still with the mock-serious expressions on their face. Jess had a look of pure determination on her face, like she was actually ready to start crime fighting in the name of Shakespeare. Then the edge of her lip twitched and Sam started to snigger into the back of his hand and soon enough both of them were gripping their sides and trying their hardest not to let Mr. Shurley hear them laughing. They did not succeed.

"Could you two please get back to work?" he sighed, quirking an eyebrow at the two of them.

"Sorry, Mr. Shurley," Jess responded quietly, lifting her book off the desk and looking studiously down at the page. Sam did likewise, but neither of them was reading the passage they were supposed to be analyzing. They were both shooting glances at each other and trying to hide their growing smirks behind the pages of their texts.

"Sargent Shorthand Texting is a mighty foe," Jess whispered around her book, shooting glares up at the hunched over form of Mr. Shurley. He was hiding behind a laptop screen and not paying them that much attention. "He is killing the beauty that is Shakespearean language. It won't be long before he makes a move against the Shakespearean superhero dynamic duo."

It took almost everything Sam had in him to not burst out laughing. It wasn't even that it was very funny, but it was because he was able to laugh about it along with Jess. She seemed to glow at each suppressed giggle they shared, something that Sam really liked to be a part of. They calmed their breathing and looked down at their copies of _Macbeth_.

"I can't believe the show is this Friday," Jess sighed, giving up any pretense of doing her classwork. She still had her gaze on the page but there was no hope for concentrating now.

"Yeah, it's crazy," he agreed, flipping a page and glancing around at the rest of the class. Basically everybody was doing their own thing, disregarding Mr. Shurley's instructions. Two pairs of guys were lobbing crumpled tissues at each other, trying to hit the other pair in the face. To be honest, Sam didn't see the fun or the humor in that at all.

"Are you going to the cast party?"

He looked back at Jess, who was studying him with eager blue eyes. "I, uh, hadn't really thought about it."

She pouted. "Why not? It's a great way to wrap up the year, you know?"

"I guess so. I might just be wiped out after the performance."

"Oh come on you _have_ to come. There are only four freshmen in the show including you and me and I don't even really know the other two girls. If you don't come who will I talk to?" She pouted even more, clasping her hands together under her chin. "Please, Sam? For me?"

He smiled at her and nodded, trying to look like the decision pained him. He'd always planned on going to the cast party, but it was just nice to hear Jess ask him like that. "Yeah I guess I can figure out a way to go."

She beamed and clapped her hands together in delight. Then her excitement toned down and, tucking a lock of wavy blonde hair behind her ear, she blushed. "And… uh, well…"

Sam raised his eyebrows. Jess was one of the few people he knew who could talk without always saying 'like' or 'um'. She was one of the most coherent people he knew, so whatever it was that made her lose her amazing ability to speak so clearly, Sam was very interested to know about.

"What?" he prodded gently, reassuring her with his eyes.

"Do you want to go out after the party or something?" she asked in a rush, keeping her eyes focused on the desk. Her cheeks were bright red at this point, and Sam couldn't help but smile so widely his cheeks ached a bit.

"I'd really like that."

Her head popped up and the redness of her cheeks had faded away. "Really?" she breathed, radiating happiness. "I was hoping you were gonna ask me and when you didn't I wasn't sure so I just—"

"Can you both please get back to work and save the flirting for another time?" Mr. Shurley called from the front of the room. Jess blushed and quickly buried her nose in her book, hiding from the titters that spread through the room at the teacher's comment. Sam would have done the same if he hadn't been so happy over the fact that he finally scored a date with the girl he had had a crush on all year.

* * *

"Okay, so can we agree that this whole Calculus test is a joke?" Ash sighed, leaning back against the aged bark of one of the oldest oak trees in Lawrence. He and Jo had come outside right after first period to soak up some sun. They always spent this period working together. Usually Ash was tutoring Jo on some aspect of math or science that she didn't fully understand. He took to those subjects like a fish to water.

"Not everybody has a genius level IQ, you know." Jo stretched out on the grass of the walled in yard, feeling the light of the sun in every single pore. She had been waiting for this kind of weather for months.

"Well then it's a joke for me," her friend persisted, tossing his notebook away from him. "I've been learning this shit since I started hacking computers."

Jo rolled her eyes. "Are you still doing that?"

He dodged her judgmental glare and shrugged his narrow shoulders. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

"Well at least I know if you ever get arrested you'd be able to weasel your way out," she laughed, rolling onto her stomach. Her Calculus notes were spread out in front of her, the pages reflecting the light so harshly that it was difficult to read the light pencil marks.

"The feds would never get their hands on me." He raised a hand to run through his mullet—something that Jo knew he did whenever he was giving himself an ego boost. He ran his hands through his hair quite a bit, to say the least. "I'd be on their case before they had a chance to say Doctor Badass is in."

Squinting up at him, Jo smirked. "You thinking of making that a permanent title or something?"

He studied his tee shirt and shrugged again. "It works."

"For you it does, but I've got a feeling MIT won't like it."

Ash waved a hand dismissively. "I don't give two craps what those jackweeds from MIT think. If I want to be called Doctor Badass, then Doctor Badass I shall be."

Jo felt a twinge in her chest at the thought of Ash heading off Massachusetts in a few months. They had been childhood friends, since their parents had been friends before either of them had been born. Sure, Ash was a weird guy. He got pushed around for in in school for his… quirks, but Jo never minded. He might as well have been her brother, kind of like Dean. He had been a childhood friend, too. They went to elementary school together, but she and Ash had much more history. Thinking about him going away to become a real genius scared her almost as much as the idea that she was going to college in a few months, too.

"Well, I'm definitely not going to learn anything more before the test," she sighed, flipping her notebook shut. She had spent most of Saturday reviewing, and this had been a relatively easy chapter for her to understand, so she wasn't particularly worried for the test. Still, Jo wished that she had Ash's gift for numbers.

"Sink or swim," Ash conceded in a tone that made it sound like he thought he was the wisest guy on the planet. As usual, his hand snaked up and ran through his hair. Jo rolled her eyes as she heaved herself into a sitting position, leaning against the trunk of the tree next to him. They sat in silence and stared out at the quiet schoolyard. There were a few other groups of people scattered around the area, doing work or talking with friends. Everybody was trying to get a few minutes in the pleasant spring weather before summer came out of nowhere and drenched them all in unbearable heat.

"Hey, how's your granddad?" Jo asked, glancing at Ash out of the corner of her eye. "My mom said that he was in the hospital."

He nodded. "Yeah, the old man's having heart problems again. It's nothing too bad."

"Good. How's your mom holding up about it, though?"

To that he didn't respond immediately. Jo knew that Ash's mother was a strange woman, but not in the way that he was strange. She didn't know how to cope with things or interact with people. It was a wonder that she and Jo's mom ever became friends because most of the time Mrs. Remington kept to herself in a room with the blinds closed and the door locked. She was always in a fragile state. Jo remembered one time when she was playing with Ash in the backyard of his house when they were kids, she saw his mother staring at them through a window. She had asked if it was a ghost and Ash had gotten really quiet. He had never liked to talk about his mother, and instantly Jo felt sorry for pressing.

"She's her usual self," was his eventual response.

"That's good."

They lapsed back into silence, Ash writing something furiously on a blank page in a notebook and Jo studying the other people in the yard. None of them were seniors, as far as she could tell, and they all looked really at ease. Jo didn't really understand what being at ease was like. She was always either at school, at work, or doing homework. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she had gone out with friends just for the sake of doing something fun. Dean was always working, Ash was doing god-knows-what, and she didn't really have any girl friends that she could call. She had her mom, but when they got angry at each other there was nowhere that was safe.

But Jo was sure as hell not the whining type, so she shoved those thoughts away and took a deep breath, soaking in the sunshine once again. She had a little while before the bell rang and she had to go to economics. This could be her last chance to relax for the rest of the day, so she took that opportunity gratefully and let her eyes slide shut.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel had the unfortunate experience of walking into his third period class right behind Michael Smith and Zachariah Thompson. He had never engaged them in a full conversation but he knew without much thought that he disliked both boys. They were rude to teachers, impolite to everybody, and they both seemed to think that they were on top of the world. They had no appreciation for their education, especially now with graduation so tantalizingly close, and they had a few choice names that they liked to shout at Castiel when he happened to be in their line of fire.

Luckily, he avoided any… onerous entanglements as they took their seats for English. This was his favorite class, though the pleasantness of it was slightly lessened by being forced to sit directly behind Zachariah and directly diagonal to Michael. They never gave Mr. Shurley, Castiel's favorite teacher, the respect he deserved. Mr. Shurley was a good man and an excellent teacher, if a little soft-spoken and a bit awkward around the students. Castiel could relate to him easily.

Quietly, he pulled out his copy of _The Merchant of Venice_ and settled in for the next forty-five minutes, dutifully trying to ignore the hushed conversation Michael and Zachariah were sharing in front of him. Mr. Shurley strode in not long after, greeting them and preparing for his lesson. Everybody was supposed to have read up to the end of Act Three Scene One today, and they were going to have a discussion about it. Nobody really noticed except Castiel as Mr. Shurley attempted to call the attention of his pupils to the front of the room.

"Hey guys, settle down. We've got some good stuff to talk about today."

"I'll bet," Michael snorted so only the students around him could hear. Zachariah chuckled appreciatively. Castiel pressed his lips together, his blue eyes burning dark glares into the backs of their heads.

"So, a lot to take in in last night's reading, right? What did you guys think of Shylock's monologue?" Mr. Shurley asked, gazing out at the room through red-rimmed eyes. Castiel couldn't help but notice that he looked exhausted. It was no doubt that the teachers were as ready for summer to come as the students. Castiel knew that he was excited for the extended vacation. His father was going on a business trip for almost the whole month of June, leaving him in charge of the house with Gabriel and Hester. Surely Gabriel would be as vexing as ever, but Castiel would have the chance to enjoy some relative peace and quiet. He already had a list of dozens of books he was planning on reading during that month, the first being _War of the Worlds_ by H. G. Wells. It had been on his list to read for ages now, and he had finally bought a copy a few weeks ago. It had been on top of a precarious stack of books on his dresser ever since.

A particularly loud snort broke Castiel away from his fantasies about a summer filled with reading. Zachariah's shoulders were shaking from the force of his contained outbursts at something Michael must have said. Castiel tried focusing up on the board, where Mr. Shurley was beginning a close reading of Shylock's famous monologue. That had been Castiel's favorite of the whole play, and he was interested on his teacher's interpretation of it.

"She'd be an idiot not to go for you," Zachariah hissed at his revered leader once his silent laughter had subsided. Castiel eyed them both crossly.

"She's a blonde. What do you expect?"

That actually made Zachariah bark out a laugh. Mr. Shurley cast a quick but calculating glare at them, and Zachariah covered up with a few fake coughs. Castiel could tell that Mr. Shurley didn't fall for the false front. He had been dealing with these two's insolent attitudes from day one. He wasn't so easily fooled, but he didn't make a stand against them, either. Castiel could understand why. When Mr. Shurley returned to his lesson, Michael and Zachariah resumed their conversation.

"But Harvelle honestly doesn't know what she's missing," Michael sighed, running a hand through his cropped dark hair, an odd look in his eye that made Castiel feel uncomfortable.

"Are you gonna ask her out again or something?"

"Yeah. No always means yes with her kind." He eyed his comrade knowingly. "They're always like this."

Zachariah nodded reverently, drinking in Michael's words.

"I'll go talk to her right after school."

"What if she says no again?"

Michael grinned wolfishly and straightened in his seat so Castiel couldn't see his face. "Oh, she won't say no this time." There was something unspeakably dark about his tone that made chills run up and down Castiel's spine. He knew they were talking about Dean's friend, Jo Harvelle. He knew that Michael didn't have anything nice planned for her, and for some reason he feared for Jo's safety. He had seen Michael and Zachariah get violent before with other boys such as one sophomore that they particularly loved to torment. To them were girls so different?

"I think that asshole Winchester gives her rides home," Zachariah said suddenly, his eyes going wide with something that looked similar to fear. "Do you want to mess with him?"

Michael glanced sideways at him, his shoulders stiffening. "You have no idea how _much_ I want to mess with him. He's been nothing but a fucking problem all year, ratting us out that time we broke Milligan's wrist."

Zachariah's face darkened, matching Michael's expression.

"Besides," Michael went on, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head in a position of confidence and relaxation, "Jo would be an idiot for getting him into it. But if he does get into our business then we'll teach him a thing or two."

Zachariah chuckled again as Castiel's gut clenched. He could pretty easily discern what it was these two were planning with Jo, and while he didn't know her personally he would never want any girl to face the unwanted advances of these two near-neanderthals. And even though he had barely managed a word with Dean all year, Castiel didn't want him to get entangled in it either. Dean was a fiercely loyal person, from what Castiel could see. He would go down fighting if it meant that it was protecting the people he cared about. Castiel had no doubts that he would love to get the chance to meet Michael head on.

Maybe Castiel would have thought it strange that he assumed to know so much about somebody that he had spoken so little with, but that didn't bother him. All that he could concentrate on now was the dryness at the back of his throat and the knot of worry in the pit of his stomach that would stay with him for the rest of the day.

* * *

"Can I just copy your answers?" Balthazar whined, staring down at his trig worksheet. There was a deep line between his eyebrows that always appeared there when he was pretending to concentrate. Gabriel rolled his eyes and slid the paper over across the lunchroom table. It's not like he made the effort to do the work properly. He plugged in a few numbers in what looked like the right equations and passed it off as a job well done.

"I bullshitted it, too," he warned. Balthazar brushed the comment aside and started scribbling down the numbers and formulas. Gabriel snorted at his friend's extreme laziness and looked around the cafeteria. There was group of junior girls on the other side of the room, hiding behind their iPhones and giggling at something, a teacher and a student hunched together over some piece of work that the student was very clearly not understanding, and a janitor was mopping something a few tables away from where Gabriel and Balthazar were sitting with a ppurely disgusted look on his wrinkled face. It was always quiet in the cafeteria during third period (which Gabriel was always thankful to have free on Mondays) so it was a good place to come and get work done. It would be a hell of a lot better if those girls weren't still giggling, but Gabriel wasn't going to be the asshole to go over and shut them up. Besides, they were Anna Milton's friend group. Anna Milton and her friends always got an automatic pass.

"What the hell does this say?" Balthazar asked, thrusting Gabriel's paper back at him. His pencil tip was resting on the answer to a problem that didn't even look like numbers. Gabriel squinted at it.

"It kinda looks like I wrote _fuck this shit_ and then wrote some numbers over it." He shrugged.

"How you manage to pass your classes astounds me," Balthazar deadpanned.

"Says the one copying my homework."

"Touché."

They both lapsed into silence, Gabriel scoping out the cafeteria again and Balthazar jotting down numbers. Both of them had really stopped caring about high school around the time they enrolled as freshmen, so to both of them copying one math homework wasn't a big deal at all. They had agreed at the beginning of junior year to ditch the whole college thing and travel cross-country for a few months after graduating. Of course, Balthazar's parents were vying for him to go to Cambridge or some fancy college in England, but higher education held no appeal for either of them. They both wanted to see the world.

"You're still down for road tripping while my dad's on that business trip, right?" Gabriel asked suddenly, just as Balthazar finished copying his answers.

"Yeah… why wouldn't I be?"

Gabriel shrugged and pursed his lips. "Just checking. I know how Mother White can get when you talk about stuff like that."

Balthazar started digging through his backpack for something, not meeting Gabriel's eye. "Well that's why we're not telling her."

"Yeah. Obviously."

The girls across the cafeteria giggled particularly loudly, and for a moment Gabriel entertained the idea of going over there and getting them to all shut up and leave. He would find a way to either gross them out or freak them out enough to get up and go, but he left those kinds of pranks for his big brother. Castiel was the best when it came to pranking.

"You know you're doing a lab in Physics today," Balthazar said. Gabriel looked back at him and saw he was staring over at the group of girls, too.

"You know, physics labs are never the same as the labs we did in Chemistry. Not enough open flames in physics." Gabriel sighed overdramatically, resting his chin on his fist. "Who was your partner?"

"Meg Masters."

"Yeah?" he asked, picking his head up again. "And how was that?"

"Same old snarky self. Nothing new to report."

"Typical. I'm guessing for once you did all the work, given that she never does anything."

Balthazar pursed his lips. "You know, surprisingly, she was quite helpful."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

Balthazar shrugged and looked like he was about to say something, but suddenly there was somebody standing at the side of their table. Gabriel looked to his left and saw none other than Anna Milton looking them expectantly, but still in that haughty way of hers.

"Can we help you?" Balthazar asked, quirking his head to the side and smiling like a door-to-door salesman.

Without asking, she sat down in the seat right next to Gabriel and looked at him with wide eyes. "Castiel is your brother, right?"

That wasn't exactly what he had expected to hear. "Uh… yeah."

"Do you think I can get his number?"

Gabriel heard Balthazar try and fail to suppress a snort from across the table. Anna shot him a cool scowl that quieted him down pretty fast. Still, Gabriel could feel a teasing smile spread across his own face. She looked at him pleadingly, and he had to bite back laughter as well.

"What would you ever want with Castiel's number?" he demanded, barely keeping a straight face. "He doesn't know anything about girls or dating."

Anna raised her chin slightly and quirked an eyebrow at him. "You wouldn't understand."

That made Gabriel laugh. Balthazar sniggered quietly along with him, and Anna locked them both under icy glowers. "What's so funny?"

"You make it sound like you're years older than us," Balthazar said. "We are in the same grade, you know."

"So what?"

Gabriel shook his head and sighed at Anna, laughter still sparkling in his eyes. "I'm telling you, Castiel will pick books over you every time. Don't bother with him."

"Can you please just give me his number?" she demanded, obviously getting impatient and fed up with the two of them.

"Touchy, touchy," Gabriel sighed, pulling his phone out of his jeans pocket. "You're setting yourself up for failure, here. I don't even know if Castiel plays for your team."

She blanched at that, and some expression that Gabriel didn't really recognized passed over her face. "You're kidding, right?"

Gabriel pressed his lips together and raised his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. "We never talk about this stuff. I've got no idea." Still, he held out his phone to her, his big brother's number glowing on the top of the screen. She hesitated, but still scribbled the digits down on her hand.

"Uh… thanks…." She started walking away before Gabriel and Balthazar could say anything.

"Well that was weird and uncomfortable," Balthazar said, eyeing Anna as she made her way back to the table of giggling girls.

"Just like every conversation I have with you," Gabriel shot back without hesitation. That made his friend laugh.

"I try, I try."

They didn't talk about Anna again, and mostly fucked around until the bell rang for fourth period.

* * *

Of all the things that Dean knew he sucked at, Spanish was one of the worst. No. It was definitely _the_ worst. It didn't help that the teacher—Mrs. Shama—was extremely a bitch most days. What's worse was that she was also really hot. That was the worst kind of combination, in Dean's experience. If he ever got a little distracted in her class, she never showed mercy. But he had never really got the chance to appreciate the view this year. He was way too busy failing her class to spare much thought for it.

"This is Spanish One stuff, people," she drawled from the front of the room, a book held in her clenched hands. Her dark, dark eyes were scanning the room. Dean ducked his head to avoid meeting her typical blistering look.

"Winchester," she said, turning Dean's blood to ice. He looked up slowly, a pained expression on his face. "Surely you can enlighten the class as to what the conjugation of _haber_ is in the imperfect tense."

"I—uh…" His mind scrambled frantically through four years of Spanish instruction, coming up blank. The longer the pause stretched out, the more he could feel Mrs. Shama's stare slicing into him like a knife. She knew very well that he couldn't answer the question, and she asked it anyway. The unfairness of it made Dean's blood boil.

"No clue," he said, looking down at his notebook. He could feel his face getting hot as she kept staring at him.

"Disappointing," she sneered, stalking away.

That one word made Dean freeze up again, his fists clenching and his face going taut. _Disappointing_. The sound made bile rise in his throat and made his stomach flip. It was almost like a physical blow to the chest. _Disappointing_. He heard that word all the time. It used to be from his dad, but that was before John accepted that his son wasn't going to be the all-star athlete and honor roll student he had dreamed up. That was role was being saved for Sammy. He heard it from teachers from middle school on, though they too had come to expect disappointment. His consistently below average test grades and missing homeworks were indicators enough. But mostly, now, Dean heard it in his own head. After seeing that look in so many people's eyes, he started to see it in the mirror too. And still, the word made him feel like he had gotten punched in the gut.

_Man up, Winchester_, he thought at himself harshly, but that didn't do much to relieve the shitty feeling.

She stopped next to her desk and swept her eyes over the students, landing on Dean. "You'd think that after being in a Spanish class for over four years—"

"Había," a voice called from the seat right next to him. He glanced over at Ash, who was regarding Mrs. Shama with cynical eyes and a smug smirk. That was the expression he wore around most teachers and people who he knew he was smarter than.

"At least one of you has learned something since freshman year," she responded without batting a long, dark eyelash. Ash's I'm-better-than-you personality never got to her. Dean was sure she was the only teacher who he couldn't phase.

"You're welcome, compadre," Ash whispered when Mrs. Shama went on getting people to translate the passage she was reading. Dean considered not showing Ash that he had heard, but he really did want to thank him for saving his ass. Mrs. Shama would have eaten him alive if someone hadn't stepped in.

"Yeah, uh, thanks, man."

"Unless you're talking in Spanish then I don't want to hear talking at all," the teacher barked from over her book. Dean looked down obediently at his notebook, but Ash still regarded her with that smug look.

"Sorry, Señora," he said with no hint of actually being sorry.

She looked like she was about to make another remark. She even opened her mouth, but with narrowed eyes she closed it and looked down at her book. Ash smiled and ran a hand through his hair, the smugness coming off him in waves. Dean smirked down at his desk, glad that Mrs. Shama got a taste of her own medicine sometimes.

Something brushed his arm suddenly, and Dean jumped.

"Read it," Ash hissed so that no one but Dean could hear. Confusedly, Dean looked at the area around his elbow and saw a little crumbled up note there.

"Note passing?" he hissed back. "Seriously?"

Ash waved a hand around his neck in a way of telling Dean to shut up just in time for Mrs. Shama to look at them both again. Dean hid the scrap of paper under his arm and pretended to be taking notes again. She didn't say anything this time.

Rolling his eyes—_it's like we're middle school girls_, he thought—he flattened out the piece of paper and read the cramped handwriting on it.

_Can I get a ride home today? Car broke down yesterday._

Dean sighed inwardly. Now he was going to make Jo_ and_ Ash wait around for him to get tutored by Castiel….

That thought made him smile for some inexplicable reason. It had taken Dean a few weeks to get up the courage to ask the quiet guy to help him out, and there was a little glow of pride inside him for actually doing it. English wasn't even his worst subject (obviously, Spanish was) and he didn't need all that much help but it would be good to fully understand Shakespeare. Maybe he could even pull a B with Castiel's help. That would be one of his best semester grades since freshman year.

Another little tickle at his elbow. Dean saw another slip of paper flutter into his line of vision. It said: _Answer?_

Without looking at Ash, Dean nodded a few times. He could tell Ash about the tutoring later. He wouldn't mind hanging around with Jo for a while, anyway. Maybe the three of them could go get pizza or something after. Today seemed like a pizza kind of day.

"So what did that last paragraph mean, loosely?" Mrs. Shama demanded. "Anybody?"

Dean quickly ducked his head and thankfully wasn't called on again.

* * *

One more period. Becky had caught herself staring at the clock for most of her history class, but she didn't care about World War I when she had to just get through French and then she was home free. She had been counting the hours to fifth period since Jessica had invited her to sit with them. That whole hallway thing still seemed like a dream to Becky, and reaching lunch was the only thing that could tell her if it was real or not.

"I don't get it, you guys," Mr. Singer sighed. "This is one of the most interesting periods of European history. Did you all get hangovers this morning or something?"

The class laughed quietly and Mr. Singer grinned through his beard.

"But really, kids, you gotta wake up. We've got a final coming up and we have to get at least through the Cold War. So focus and it'll be easier on all of us."

A hand raised into the air.

"Yeah, Garth?" Mr. Singer acknowledged. Becky literally recoiled from the name, thoughts of first period swirling around in her head. At least he sat in front of her now, so she wouldn't have to worry about him looking at her anymore.

"When's the test on this chapter, sir?"

Mr. Singer scratched his chin and walked over to his desk, studying something that Becky assumed was a calendar. She wasn't really paying attention to his answer, anyway.

"I was actually thinking of having you guys write a short paper about the causes of World War I compared to those of World War II." He looked around the room, trying to gauge the reactions. "Yes? No?" The class was unresponsive. "I know it's Monday morning, but can you guys at least do your normal shtick with groaning at the fact that you'll have a paper to write?"

A few of her funnier classmates moaned theatrically to humor Mr. Singer and he chuckled appreciatively. "You're all a bunch of idjits," he rumbled affectionately as he walked back to the center of the room. "But now that that's settled, back to work. Let's see… uh… Kevin! Can you tell us what the reading was about last night?"

The class genius, Kevin Tran, started telling Mr. Singer word for word what he read from the textbook. Apparently he had skipped a few grades and already had a spot reserved for him at all of the Ivy League schools. Becky thought that he was annoying, so she tuned out his rambling and resumed doodling Sam's name in the margins of her notebook.

She wondered what lunch was going to be like, sitting at the table of popular kids. Usually, she found a table at the farthest side of the lunchroom and ate by herself, doing homework or reading a book. Nobody wanted to sit with her. Ever. She always saw Sam's table full of laughing people, smiles, and loud voices. They always looked like they were having the best time at lunch while she just got ahead on her homework.

Now she would be in on the jokes. She would get why they were all laughing so hard. The thought made her tingle with anticipation. Maybe she would say something and get Sam to laugh that sudden, warm laugh of his that made his whole face light up. She had only ever seen him like that when Jessica talked, but maybe there was a chance for her to do it, too. Maybe by then Sam would have listened to the CD that she gave him when he was walking in to first period. He might thank her for it and ask how she knew his favorite bands. Of course, they had ended up being her favorite bands, too. She had listened to that playlist a dozen times before burning the disc. Maybe they would listen to it together and talk about their favorite songs.

_Becky Winchester_, she scrawled on the bottom of her page. There, it joined the dozens of other doodles of _Winchester_ and little rainbow hearts. Maybe it looked like a middle schooler's notebook, but she felt as excited as a little middle schooler before her first dance. She would be cool about eating lunch with them, though, and not her dorky self. She would laugh and toss her hair and show them that she should earn a permanent spot there. They would eat lunch together for the rest of high school, she would become best friends with Jess, and she would win Sam over and they would become the perfect couple they were destined to be.

Everything was going to be more than perfect—it was going to be flawless.

One period to go.

* * *

"Hey, faggot," Michael whispered, jabbing Castiel in the back. Charlie felt herself stiffen at that word. She looked up warily as Zachariah and Michael boxed Castiel in, keeping him from getting out of the classroom. The bell had just rung and students were filing through the door. The noise was just enough to drown the two douchewads out. Even Mr. Shurley, just a few feet away didn't hear. There wasn't much he could do in a situation like this anyway.

"Faggot," Michael hissed again when Castiel didn't respond. He hadn't even turned around to face the two jocks. Charlie watched him carefully slide his book into his backpack and slowly zip it up, a look of intense concentration on his face. Charlie felt bad for him. He probably got this all the time, given that he hadn't had a girlfriend once while in high school. Maybe he was gay and maybe he wasn't, but no one should ever be called that hideous word.

"I know you were staring at us all class," Michael goaded as Castiel slung his backpack over his shoulder with practiced slowness. He didn't have anything left to do so he turned around and faced Michael, his back to Charlie. She hurriedly shoved her books into her bag, keeping her eyes on the scene unfolding just a few rows in front of her. They were the only four students left in the room, now. Mr. Shurley had just left, too. Castiel was all alone.

"I was not," he replied calmly. "Excuse me, I have to get to Anatomy."

"Hold up, we're not done with you," Zachariah said. Charlie noticed he glanced over at Michael, as if to check that he had said the right thing. The dark haired boy didn't even notice.

"You know it's a sin, being a faggot, right?" Michael said, looking more serious than Charlie had ever seen him. The expression on his face made her skin crawl.

"I'm not—"

"God knows who's sinning," he went on, his eyes dark with pleasure at the clear discomfort he was causing Castiel. "He'll send you to hell with all the other faggots."

"Please—" His voice broke, and Charlie could see that Michael's words were affecting Castiel more than he was letting on. But it was getting to be too much. Loudly, Charlie took a deep breath and did what any idiot would do in her situation. She charged right at the little trio in front of her, her face beginning to turn as red as her hair. They all looked surprised when she planted herself directly between Castiel and the two dickbags, and she took advantage of the element of surprise.

"Love everyone as you love yourself," she barked, staring down Michael with a look that would make anybody feel week at the knees. She felt like a warrior, not the awkward lesbian of the senior class. She felt strong because of their confusion.

But it didn't last.

Michael's face turned into a mask of disgust. "Oh look," he said, glancing over at Zachariah. "Fag's got a little lesbian to stand up for him."

Charlie felt her blood start to boil. "Leave him alone." Her voice was dangerously low.

"Or what?" Zachariah asked in a mock sing-songy voice. "You'll quote Star Trek at us or something?"

That made her smile, but there was no joy in it. Instead of answering, Charlie rocked her weight back on her heels and rolled her eyes. In the instant before it happened, she knew she was going to regret this moment. They were powerful in the school community. They were going to shut her down.

But what the hell. She had senioritis and there wasn't much more school left.

Letting out a guttural growl, Charlie lifted a leg and kicked Zachariah sharply in the knee. She had gone through years of Tae-Kwon-Do as a kid. When her favorite uncle visited during the summer he liked to test her skill by having her break blocks of wood with her feet. She had excellent aim and her legs were very strong from many games of Dance Dance Revolution on her Wii.

_"You bitch,"_ Zachariah snarled, both hands gripping his kneecap. Michael looked between the two of them with fire in his eyes.

"Bother this guy again and next time I'll aim a little higher."

Michael put a strong hand on his follower's shoulder and forcibly turned him around, toward the door. Zachariah began to limp away, his backpack hanging off his arm awkwardly. He looked funny that way, but the look Michael was giving Charlie kept her from laughing. In fact it made her feel no pride in what she had just done at all. She knew she was going to regret it.

"You'll be sorry you did that."

"And you'll be next," she said, not wanting her courage to fail her now. "Don't you have a class to go to?"

To that, it seemed, he had no answer. He just gave her and Castiel one last ominous look and followed Zachariah out of the classroom. Charlie watched them go, a victorious smile spreading across her face once they were out of view. She thrust her fists into the air, congratulating herself on not peeing her pants during the confrontation. That would not have made her a good heroine.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Half surprised, Charlie spun around and saw Castiel sagging against a desk, his face a mask of exhaustion.

"A thank you would be appreciated," she said, but not angrily. Suddenly, she was nervous for this boy again. He looked like he was about to pass out. "Are you okay? You don't look so great."

"I'm fine," he rasped, pushing off from the desk. "Thank you."

"Anytime." She grinned at him.

"I actually do have to get to Anatomy," he said a bit rudely. Charlie took a moment to notice that she was in his way. Blushing, she laughed and started walking down the row of desks just ahead of him.

"I've got Anatomy, too. We can walk together."

Castiel didn't answer. He didn't look all too pleased with the idea of walking to class with her, but she didn't care. She actually wanted to get a chance to talk with him for once. He was usually so quiet in class that no one approached him. They walked together into the churning masses of students that occupied the hallways, taking a left and then a right toward the science labs.

"Have they been picking on you for a long time?" Charlie asked. She almost had to shout to be heard.

Castiel grimaced and nodded.

"Same here."

He didn't say anything to that. So maybe the conversation would be one-sided. That was okay with Charlie. At least somebody was listening to her for once.

"So what do you think of _The Merchant of Venice_?" she prompted.

"I finished it last night." Deftly, Castiel maneuvered around a group of giggling freshmen girls, momentarily separating them.

"Oh… wow we're not even supposed to be halfway through it yet!" So he was a big reader. That was interesting. Maybe he read the books she liked.

"I read quickly."

"Have you read the Harry Potter series?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes."

"What was your favorite one? I liked _The Half Blood Prince_ best."

"_The Prisoner of Azkaban_."

"Oh, yeah, I love the time travel in that one. And Hermione is badass." They passed by the entrance to the boys' locker room and for a second Charlie was engulfed with the smell of body odor and used jock strap. She resisted the urge to gag. Castiel walked on purposefully, not adding more to the Harry Potter front.

"How about Lord of the Rings?" she asked as they rounded the last corner and reached the science wing.

"Of course. I've read most of Tolkien's writings. He's one of my favorite authors." For a moment Castiel glanced at Charlie with wide eyes, as if he was worried he had said too much. But he had said just enough for Charlie.

"Same! Too few people today ignore his other stories. I mean, I'm obsessed with the Hobbit and the Rings trilogy but his other stories are so rich, too."

Castiel nodded. "His prose is strikingly beautiful."

Charlie beamed. "I couldn't agree more. So who is your favorite author? You said Tolkien was one of your favorites… who's number one?"

"Vonnegut," he replied as they entered the Anatomy room. Most of the students were already seated and their teacher, Mrs. Moseley, was already there.

Charlie felt a thrill of pure joy. She had read _Cat's Cradle_ countless times. She should have had this conversation with Castiel a long time ago.


	6. Chapter 6

Meg was always overly aware of the aura she gave off. She could see it affecting the people she passed in the hall. Her long, dark hair, her black clothes, and her usually dark mood made her worse than unapproachable. She always felt a little thrill when stupid, sweaty little freshmen got out of her way when she walked by their lockers. She relished the way most teachers eyed her warily when she walked into class late (excepting of course Ms. Talbot who took nobody's shit).

So why the hell was that Balthazar kid acting differently from the rest of them?

She passed by a group of senior girls who gave her glares that would chill a weaker girl's heart. They just made Meg smirk back, looking like she knew something more than these girls did. They did not look pleased with that, and they quickly found something else to scrutinize.

"Meg," a voice said quietly from her elbow. She jerked back, letting her I-will-never-be-surprised-by-anything façade drop for a moment. It was just Ruby, though, somehow appearing out of nowhere. Meg couldn't say that she was pleased to see her or not.

"We've got math."

Ruby grabbed Meg's arm, her grip like a vice, and stopped her in the middle of the hallway. There was a short sound of annoyance from somebody behind them, but when that person saw who was in front of them they shut up pretty quickly. Meg alone was bad enough, but with Ruby she was far worse.

"We're cutting. Fifth period, too. The guy I get the stuff from is here early. He's waiting at the shed." She grinned darkly. "Come on."

Meg swallowed and glanced around. People were continually streaming by them on their way to fourth period. Nobody cared about what Ruby was saying, but talking about it in the middle of the hallway made Meg feel like all eyes were on her. They were, though. People were simply too superficial to look further than her dark clothes and heavy makeup.

"I've got a math test on Wednesday," she said before she had really thought about it. Ruby's face got hard, the smile disappearing.

"You're joking, right?" she said incredulously, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Meg shrugged and shook her head. "I'll still come out sixth period, if you'll still be there."

"No, no way am I letting you do this to yourself." Grabbing onto Meg's jacket, Ruby began to tow her the opposite way from her classroom toward the exit through the gym. For someone so small, Ruby was incredibly strong. Meg dug her heels into the ground but there was no purchase on polished linoleum tiles.

"Look—" she growled, digging her fingers into Ruby's wrist, trying to get her to let go. No such luck. The two girls passed through the gym entrance and into the large room It was empty, and their uneven footsteps cast strange echoes through the cavernous space.

"Friends don't let friends sacrifice their happiness for a pointless grade," Ruby said without looking back. They were already halfway across the gym and Meg could see the soft glow of the exit sign just ahead.

She didn't say that happiness was a last priority for her, right then. She didn't say that she was failing math and a little part of her really wanted to do well so she could get the hell out of here and away from her stupid fucking father. She didn't say that she was harassed for money by the fat fuck all the time. She didn't even say that she secretly did want to graduate with a good GPA, go to a good college, and forget about the hell she was living in now. She didn't say any of this because Ruby had a point. Why sacrifice happiness for forty-five minutes of pointless boredom? Those forty-five minutes wouldn't make her happier in the long run, and instead she could fall into a blissful state of peaceful forgetfulness.

So she stopped struggling and let the smaller girl lead her out of the gym and into the parking lot, toward the sports shed across the high school campus.

* * *

Adam settled himself into his favorite chair in the library, ready to enjoy his first and only free period of the day. For some reason, this was always the period that no other sophomores had free, so he was always alone. Not that he would have been with anybody anyways. The only other sophomores that he ever really talked to were Harry Spangler and Ed Zeddmore, and those two usually kept to themselves. They were always saying weird things and laughing behind their hands at each other, anyway. Adam tried to look at the nerdy stuff that they loved but he couldn't make himself like it. So, he sat alone with his backpack in the quietest corner of the library.

There were virtually no other people in the room with him, save for the librarian. She was typing rapidly on her desktop computer, blocking out the rest of the world with whatever else she was doing. Adam tried, but for some reason he couldn't recall her name. Maybe because she felt that she was being watched or maybe by coincidence she looked up and caught Adam in a questioning gaze, her eyebrow quirked. Quickly, he looked down at his hands, his cheeks burning for some strange reason. It wasn't like he was really embarrassed, but meeting gazes like that always made Adam feel uncomfortable. The act of looking into somebody else's eyes caused his face to turn a shade of pink and his eyes to dance away. The interaction was too… personal.

Besides, he had homework to do.

Sighing deeply, he extricated a notebook from his bag and read over the English assignment he didn't do last night. It was just writing out a few responses to the poem they were supposed to read last night. He hadn't read the poem either. Grimacing, he pulled his completely disorganized folder out of his backpack and began hunting for the handout Mr. Walker had given him at the class yesterday, hoping desperately that it was going to be a short poem.

_I don't have time for this_, he thought as he sifted through paper after paper. He should be using this time to start studying for finals or getting ahead on the homework that he'd already been assigned in chemistry and math. He'd probably end up doing those in his free period tomorrow, too. It always seemed like he was a day behind on his work.

"Gotchya," he whispered triumphantly, producing the paper. It was two sided and the poem, as far as he could tell, was short and sweet. Adam grinned and smoothed the page out, sticking his pen in his mouth and focusing. He had forty minutes to get through this and write a response. Plenty of time.

"Adam Milligan?"

Adam felt his blood freeze. At the same time, he repressed the urge to roll his eyes. _Just can't catch a break_.

He pulled the pen out of his mouth and looked up into the gaunt face of Mr. Morte.

"Yes, sir?"

Mr. Morte looked Adam up and down, and Adam shivered. A cold breeze might as well have swept through the room. The guidance councilor's eyes were sharp and calculating, and Adam was sure that there was no way to hide from them. Another shiver passed through his body.

"Your homeroom teacher made me aware of some concerns he has about you. It seemed that you were available this period, so I was hoping that we could have a chat." He studied Adam's face closely, still hovering over his shoulder. He looked like a giant crow or something along those lines. Maybe a raven.

Adam glanced down at the poem on his notebook. Already preparing himself for the look of disappointment Mr. Walker would give him, he closed the book and shoved it back into his bag with a little more force than necessary. Mr. Morte seemed to notice. Of course he noticed.

"Having trouble with your studies?"

For a split second, Adam thought about lying, but from the look on the guidance councilor's face, he knew he would never get away with that.

"Yeah," he admitted as he stood up, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. "It's hard to find time for everything."

"I understand why time management becomes a problem for many high school students these days," Mr. Morte said as he began to guide Adam out of the library. They stepped out into the empty hallway and began to make their way to his office. "Things have changed a great deal since I was in your position. Too much stress has been placed on your shoulders. Too much is expected of you."

Adam nodded but he didn't respond. He'd heard these words several dozen times before. It was a topic that his mother loved to rant about when he came back with poor grades.

"Do you find the work you're getting too hard, or is the quantity too much to keep up with?" Mr. Morte asked as they began to walk down the stairs. Adam had forgotten—the guidance office was on the bottom floor. It was always drafty down there, and for some reason the lower floor hallways always seemed darker than the more populated upper floors.

"Uh… both I guess. If the work was easier, it wouldn't take so much time to do it all. If there was less, it would be easier to focus on each assignment." He shrugged and readjusted his backpack when it began to slip off his shoulder.

Mr. Morte pursed his thin lips and nodded as they stopped in front of a door. The plaque on it was dull and faded, but it clearly read the guidance councilor's name. The man in question reached out a hand and let himself inside, holding the door open for Adam to follow.

Inside was cleaner and more… normal than Adam had anticipated. He smirked at himself. What had he expected? A medieval dungeon complete with stone walls and torches? No. The office had off white walls, shelves stacked with antique looking books, and a simple wooden desk in the center with an industrial rolling chair behind it. Mr. Morte took this seat, sinking into it smoothly.

"Something funny?" he asked, resting his chin on the tips of his fingers.

Adam quickly changed his expression to one more serious and sat down in the chair across from Mr. Morte. "No, sir."

"You don't need to call me 'sir', Adam. I'm not your superior, here. I'm simply here to help. No need for the formalities." He leaned back in his chair.

"You're not going to ask me to call you by your first name, are you?" Adam asked. "Because it always makes me feel weird when teachers do that."

"No, I won't ask you to do that." Mr. Morte didn't smile—he never smiled—but Adam noticed the spark of amusement in those dark eyes. He considered that a victory, and subconsciously he began to relax. This wasn't as bad as he thought.

"Your homeroom teacher, Mr. Walker, is worried about your relations to other students."

So no beating around the bush, then. Adam liked that.

"There are a few ass—oh, uh, sorry I mean rude guys that mess around with me sometimes, but it's nothing I can't handle." He shrugged. Mr. Morte narrowed his eyes.

"Do they pick on you? Pressure into doing bad things?"

"No… mostly just push me around a bit." Adam studied his hands. He didn't trust himself to look the guidance councilor in the eye. Eyes said too much.

"Have they physically threatened you?"

"Uh—"

"I mean, of course, to ask whether they have threatened you with more violence so that you wouldn't tell anyone what they were doing."

Adam blinked hard; remembering the last time those jerks cornered him by the sports shed out back. Michael had held him by the collar of his shirt, pinned against a wall. He had said something exactly like that. _You squeal, you're dead_. Those had been his exact words. Mr. Morte obviously saw right through him.

"You're safe here, Adam."

"But not out there. I'm never safe out there." His mind was telling him to shut up. This conversation was getting too close for comfort and he didn't want to deal with Mr. Morte's piercing looks any longer. He didn't want to talk about how high school is a living hell and he barely has the energy to drag himself out of bed every morning. He doesn't want to think about having to come here another two years and dealing with assholes like Michael Smith. So he pulled back, closing in on himself, and jumped on the first topic of conversation that he deemed safe.

"Why are you meeting with Tessa?"

Mr. Morte cocked his head to the side, a strand of black hair falling across his brow. He wiped it away absently. "What do you care about Tessa?"

Adam shrugged again. "I don't know. I want to get to know her a little better."

He saw a light spark in Mr. Morte's eyes, and the corners of his lips quirked. "Really?"

Adam nodded slowly, confused by the sudden animation on the other man's face.

"Tessa and I meet every week, Monday afternoons. I happily invite you to join us, if you can. I think you would be an ideal addition to our discussions."

Adam frowned. "Shouldn't you ask Tessa first?"

At that, Mr. Morte actually smiled. _Smiled_. Showing teeth and all. It completely transformed his face. The hollowness in his eyes and cheeks disappeared and he looked like a man half his age. It was terrifying and incredible at the same time.

"I have a feeling she would say yes."

Adam blinked as Mr. Morte's face returned to his normal, sullen and somber expression.

"Oh… well then alright." He shrugged as Mr. Morte stood up.

"Then we have nothing further to discuss. I'll see you here right after school, Adam. It has been good talking to you."

"Same to you," Adam said, inching toward the door. Their conversation had ended so abruptly, he felt a bit disoriented.

"You know," Mr. Morte called out as Adam swung the door open. The boy stopped and looked over back into the office. "You shrug your shoulders a great deal. A very noncommittal gesture, that."

Adam frowned and turned around. "So?"

The guidance councilor studied him. "It might be good for you to commit."

"Uh… okay."

"Good day, Adam."

"'Bye."

He escaped into the hallway, letting the door close on its own.

_Damn_… he thought, rushing back up the stairs to the library. He still had time to do his homework if he rushed. _Mr. Morte is so weird._

* * *

Dean stilled as Castiel and that redheaded girl walked into the room together. For once, he was really glad he got a seat in the back of the room, despite the fact that Mr. Crowley always wrote in the smallest print known to mankind. This way, he wouldn't have to worry about getting caught staring; just in case his eyes drifted over to that head of dark hair. At least, he thought so until Castile and the redhead claimed two seats in the back row on the other side of the room.

_Damn_. Now he couldn't be all that subtle.

"Hey, what are you staring at?" Jo whispered roughly in his ear, scanning the room. Luckily, Dean was blocking her view of the subject in question.

"Nothing," he said too quickly.

"IS this the girl you were blushing about in art today?" she gasped, scanning the room with newfound intensity.

"No," he answered gruffly, hunching his shoulders. "Will you shut the hell up?"

She narrowed her eyes and socked him in the shoulder with more force than necessary, inching forward in her seat so she could see around him.

"If the dude wants privacy, Joanna Beth—" Ash began from Jo's other side, but she jerked back and held up a hand to silence him,

"Only my mother gets to call me that," she said threateningly. Dean chuckled quietly as Ash swallowed, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Aye aye, ma'am."

Jo smirked devilishly at him and faced Dean again. Maybe he had won the battle in art this morning, but knew it was a lost cause with Jo. There was no hiding in a confined classroom with Mr. Crowley guarding the exit. The truth was coming out in the next forty-five minutes, he was sure of it.

Jo's eyes ran along the last row and picked out the only girl sitting there—the redhead. She was whispering excitedly with Castiel, her eyes wide. Maybe she had a crush on him, too.

_No, shut up, Winchester,_ he disciplined himself. _You do not have a crush._

Then Castiel happened to glance up and those impossibly blue eyes met his.

_Fuck. I have a crush._

Dean quickly looked down at his notebook, willing the heat in his cheeks away. He knew he was blushing, but if he had any luck at all Castiel couldn't see it.

"Wait," Jo whispered, looking from Dean to the row across from them.

_Here it comes_, he groaned internally. This was not a conversation he wanted to have in anatomy.

"Uh, Dean…?"

"What?"

"I don't think Charlie plays for your team."

"Wha—uh, who's Charlie?" He blinked twice, quirking an eyebrow. Jo shot him one of those looks that said I've-caught-you-so-cut-the-bullshit.

"The redhead over there that you're totally obsessed with? I saw you staring."

Dean coughed and glanced over at the girl. She was looking down at her notebook, copying whatever Mr. Crowley was writing on the board. She was cute but never the kind of girl Dean would go for. He considered for a moment letting Jo think that she was the one he was the one he had been staring at, but he knew that the second she found out he was lying she would kick his ass to kingdom come.

He sighed and dropped his gaze again, pretending to take notes. "No, it's not her."

Jo frowned and resumed staring at the back row. "Dean… there are only guys over there… Is she—" She paused for a long moment, and Dean could _feel_ the gears turning in her head. Then, very softly, she said, "Oh."

"Yeah."

A very solid, very bony fist made contact with his shoulder again and Dean had to keep himself from shouting out in surprise and pain. He shot a glare at Jo and saw her glaring back with even more intensity.

"So why the hell is this news to me, dickhead?" she hissed. "I've known you my whole goddamn life and not _once_ you thought it would be smart to mention it to your best friend that you swing both ways?"

Dean felt his eyes grow wide and his cheeks go pink again, but thankfully Jo had been quiet enough that nobody had heard her. He scowled.

"Mind keeping it down?"

She looked like she was about to snap back, but then her expression softened and she smiled warmly. _Damn Jo and her fucking mood swings_, Dean thought. He rolled his eyes and tried to pay attention to the diagram on the board. Jo had other ideas.

"So which one is it? It's the dark haired one, isn't it?"

Dean didn't respond, but he knew from the way his lips curved into a smile on their own accord that Jo had her answer.

"Ooh, he's cute," she commented, smirking when Dean narrowed his eyes at her. "Hey, I'm not making a move or anything. Girl code. You don't go after friends' crushes."

Dean scowled again at the thought of falling into the 'girl code'.

"Shut up," he growled, at a loss of what else to say.

Jo chuckled quietly to herself and bent her head over her notebook.

And just when Dean thought the conversation had died, Ash's head popped up. "Congrats, man!" he said a little too loudly.

"Congrats on what, exactly, Mr. Remington?" Mr. Crowley asked, putting down his dry erase marker and crossing his arms at Ash. Dean would have blanched under that ice-cold glower, but Ash didn't.

Of course, Ash didn't miss a beat.

"On your superb teaching skills, sir," he said with a shiteating grin on his face.

Mr. Crowley just glared at him for a moment more and then returned to teaching. Dean and Jo both had to smother their giggles, and when Dean accidentally glanced over at Castiel, he saw that the dark haired boy was grinning, too.

* * *

If there was one thing in school that Sam knew he wasn't cut out for, it was art. The only reason he signed up for it was because this was the first year the school board had decided to cut the theatre class. He was forced to make a snap decision on the first day of school about how he would fulfill his arts requirements, and the beautiful girl he had happened to sit next to by chance just so happened to be facing the same problem.

"It sucks that they cut theatre," she had groaned at him.

"Yeah I can't sing or play an instrument without making it sound like something is dying," he agreed, staring down at the list of arts courses.

She had giggled, and he loved the sound instantly.

"Same here. I guess I'm stuck with Intro to Drawing," she said with a shrug. "Want to take it with me?"

Sam didn't even have to think about the answer. "Sure."

"I'm Jess," she had said with the most beautiful smile Sam had ever seen. From then on he knew this girl was different. She was unique. And as he watched her lean over the sketch she was working on, he knew that he was right about her.

"That's some great detail," Ms. Barnes commented as leaned over Sam's shoulder. "Keep at it." He knew that she really meant, _Stop staring at Jess and get back to work_. He made an apologetic face and brought the tip of his pencil back to the paper. Both he and Jess sat in silence for a while, heads bent close together, focusing on their work. Every once in a while Sam would glance up at her, or she would glance up at him, and sometimes their eyes would meet. Then they would grin and get back to work.

And then… Becky.

"Hi, guys," she said, crowding onto their small table with her supplies. She accidentally bumped into Sam's arm, causing his pencil to dart across the page and leave an ugly black mark on his drawing. Becky didn't even notice, but Jess looked at him sympathetically.

"Hey, Becky," she said tonelessly, handing Sam an eraser. "What's up?"

"I hope you don't mind if I sit with you," Becky said, smiling widely at both of them and flattening her paper out. The corners covered both Sam's and Jess's drawings. "It's just that I was sitting over there by Kevin and he started talking about Yale and college and that stuff so I told him I was going to come over here and sit with my friends." She beamed and planted herself on a stool. Sam grinned back as casually as he could, but he could already feel the discomfort permeating the air.

"Yeah, fine," Jess said in that same toneless voice. Becky didn't seem to notice. She was over the moon. "Great I'm gonna go sharpen my pencil." She almost fell down, tripping over her own feet in excitement, as she ran over to the pencil sharpener.

"You are so nice," Sam said, giving Jess a warm look. She smiled.

"I just really feel sorry for her. I see her sitting alone at lunch every day, and that Garth kid really embarrassed her this morning." She sighed. "I hope you don't mind that I asked her to sit with us at lunch."

Sam shrugged. "It's fine with me, but how about everyone else? I mean, I don't want to sound like a jerk but there's a reason she sits alone."

Jess frowned. "We'll just have to set a good example."

Sam nodded just as Becky got back, that ridiculous smile still stretched across her face. Sam had no idea how happy someone could be from just _sitting_, but Becky looked like she just won the lottery or something.

* * *

Castiel couldn't help but steal glances at Dean every few moments or so, and the one time they actually made eye contact he feared that his whole body had gone red. Those green eyes seemed to swallow him, and in that brief moment Castiel knew he was in trouble. He wanted to look at those eyes all the time.

He had thought he was being discreet, but Charlie didn't seem to think so. Her eyes darted back and forth from Castiel to Dean and it only took her moments to work it out. Castiel watched her face go blank and then a dopey grin spread across it.

"You, too?" she asked, looking beyond hopeful.

"What?"

"You're not…" She made a peculiar gesture with her hands that Castiel didn't understand. Charlie rolled her eyes. "You're not into girls, are you?" she whispered as quietly as she could.

Castiel blinked and felt his cheeks color. "It's that obvious?"

"I know my kind."

She let him work it out. "So you're not into guys?" he affirmed, wishing that he was better at this kind of communication. Dean and his two friends seemed to be able to do it just fine. Charlie wasn't put off by his slowness, though. She nodded like a proud mother.

"And I thought you couldn't get any more perfect."

Castiel smiled briefly and copied down the point that Mr. Crowley was making. Charlie, Dean, and his friends seemed to have no appreciation for the fact that there were finals in a few weeks and these last few lessons could mean the difference between passing and failing. Castiel wouldn't let that opportunity slip by him.

Charlie was more than happy ignoring Mr. Crowley and his notes completely.

"So… Dean Winchester?" she asked, a grin playing at her lips. She elbowed him and raised her eyebrows. "Got a thing for tan skin and muscles?"

Castiel tried. He tried to hard to ignore her.

"You know, if I was into guys I would totally go for Dean. He is the crème de la crème of hotness. I mean, if you're into that kind of thing." She elbowed Castiel again, trying to get a response out of him.

"Have you asked him out or anything? Do you know if he goes for guys? You need to give me some info here, Castiel." She widened her eyes dramatically and clasped her hands under her chin, putting together the ultimate puppy dog face. It had no affect on Castiel. He had no idea what she was doing that for, but he decided to throw her a bone anyway. Maybe then she would stop asking questions that he didn't have the answer to.

"I'm tutoring him after school."

Charlie's face lit up. "Really? On what?! If it's math, that's too bad. Math is boring."

"English. We're going to review the reading for _The Merchant of Venice_."

"Shakespeare? That's great! There are so many gay innuendos in Shakespeare stuff, it's practically printed in rainbows." She smirked at her own joke. "But it's really romantic, too. Has he shown an interest in you?"

Castiel studied the line of his notes he had been working on before Charlie deemed school less important than his relationship with Dean. She took the silence as an answer.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Castiel."

"For what?"

She pursed her lips. "He hasn't given you any sign that he'd go for you?"

Castiel shook his head, and she sighed. None of her enthusiasm was gone, however. She seemed more excited than ever.

"Well, there's still hope. You're hanging around after school, right?"

He nodded.

"Then I'm going to be your wing woman. We're so getting you a boyfriend." She clapped her hands together in glee and finally decided that she wanted to make the tiniest bit of an effort to pay attention. Castiel, relieved to focus back on the class, began to try and catch up to Mr. Crowley's lecture. His small handwriting made it a challenge.

Right then, Dean's friend, Ash Remington, made a joke, and Castiel caught himself grinning at it. Unusual, he thought to himself. It wasn't that funny.

It was a shame he missed the warm glance that Dean sent his way.

* * *

"You said he was already here," Meg groaned, leaning against the rotting wood of the sports equipment shed. There were beads of sweat on her nose and forehead. Her black clothes were soaking up all of the heat from the sun, despite the fact that she was in the shade.

Ruby was pacing. "He told me he was," she shot back, steel in her voice. Meg thought it was best to stop annoying her. Ruby got vicious when she was pissed.

"I missed a whole period for nothing," she muttered under her breath. No point hoping to pass that test coming up. Why did she let Ruby get her into this? Oh, that's right; because Ruby was a piece of shit.

Ruby continued to pace, getting jumpier by the second.

"Can you please sit the fuck down?" Meg snapped. "You're getting me nervous.

"Who cares?"

Meg shot her an icy glare, which Ruby totally ignored, and let her eyes close. She was definitely going to get heat stroke or something from being out here for so long.

"I think I'm just going to go—"

Ruby stopped and rounded on her. "Shut the fuck up, Meg. You're staying."

Meg held her hands up and made a face. "Fine. Whatever."

Ruby's phone buzzed. She held it up and scanned the screen, relief flooding her features. "Thank God. He's here. He said he's heading toward us right now."

"Finally," Meg muttered. She stood up and brushed off her jeans, hoping that there were no dirt marks on her back that she couldn't see. No point making a bad impression on this guy, whoever he was. Ruby seemed really excited for him to get here, but she wasn't sure if it was because there was a thing going on between them or if Ruby was just really itching for what the guy was bringing.

A figure rounded the corner of the shed and before Meg could get a good look at him, Ruby jumped the guy and they were making out. The absolutely disgusting kind of makeout. Meg rolled her eyes and cleared her throat loudly. Ruby jumped off the guy and stepped back, smoothing her hair where his hands had mussed it up.

Meg took one look at the mystery man and felt her blood go cold.

He grinned, exposing his gap tooth and yellowing gums. His dead-looking eyes were way too familiar, and his ratty clothes were ones that Meg had washed yesterday.

"Hey, little sister," he said roughly, hooking an arm around Ruby's waist possessively.

"Alistair," Meg hissed.


	7. Chapter 7

"You're joking, right?" Meg demanded, rounding on Ruby. She looked… smug. The bitch looked _smug_. "My fucking brother? This is the guy you've been freaking out about? My fucking washed up big brother?"

"Careful who you call washed up, Meg," Alistair warned in a low voice. He squeezed Ruby tighter to his body. She giggled and leaned up against him in a way that most people wouldn't consider decent. Meg felt like gagging.

"You've got fucked up taste in guys if you think he's hot," she said.

Ruby rolled her eyes, the smugness not going away. "I don't care what's on the outside—it's the inside that counts."

"What, inside his pocket? Because that's all you really care about, isn't it?"

Ruby giggled again. "That's just a bonus."

Alistair reached into his back pocket with his free hand and produced a Ziploc bag. It wasn't hard to guess what was inside. Meg ground her teeth together and crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly at a crossroads.

"Now will you calm down and shut up?" Alistair said, his voice oily. "You're killing the mood." Ruby snorted and sat down against the shed where Meg had been sitting moments ago. Alistair followed suit, crouching down beside her and pulling a joint out of the bag. Meg could have turned into a wisp of smoke for all they cared.

She clenched her jaw and raised her chin a fraction of an inch. The sun continued to beat down on the top of her head and her dark clothing continued to soak in every hot particle in the air within five feet of her. She felt like hundreds of eyes were trained on her, waiting for her to make a decision. Stay or go? It was the beginning of fifth period. She could still make US History. They had a paper coming up. If she set her mind to it she could pull a solid C+ or maybe, if she was really lucky, a B-. She didn't have to sit out in this heat, watching her brother and Ruby suck face and get high. She didn't have to deal with the experience of coming down off her own high. The day could still turn out okay.

Alistair pulled out a lighter and glanced up at Meg. She hadn't moved.

"So you going to stand there all day or what?" he drawled, holding the end of the joint over the light. Ruby stared at the flame in fascination, her eyes bright in anticipation.

_Now or never_. Meg looked down at them, and up toward the school. Her body was already tensing, getting ready to begin the lonely walk over there.

"Come on," Ruby said thickly. She held up the joint to Meg, her eyes rolling back in her head. She looked like she was in heaven.

Ruby would probably make life hell for Meg if she left. Alistair would be even worse, and she couldn't get away from him at home. She couldn't always be on guard from her father _and_ her brother. He eyed her darkly, his colorless eyes darting from the joint to her and back again. He thought he knew what she was going to do. She could see it in his eyes. He was convinced she was going to leave. From the curl in his lip and the hardness in his gaze, she saw he wanted her to. He wanted to put her through hell. She bet he thought that kind of thing was fun.

Steeling herself, Meg crossed her legs and sat down across from the couple, accepting the joint. She glanced as Alistair as she put it between her lips, inhaling long and deep. He looked disappointed.

She let the familiar buzzing in her head wrap around her thoughts and smother them. She let go of anything that wasn't here and now—the history paper, college, her deadbeat dad, all of it. She just paid attention to the feel of her troubles floating away alongside the smoke that poured out her nose and mouth.

* * *

"So what do you guys have planned for tonight?" Becky asked brightly, clutching her books to her chest too tightly. She worried if she wasn't holding on to something, she would fall to pieces. She was standing in line for lunch with two of the most popular kids in the freshman class. After a year of people barely speaking to her, she had every right to feel like she would fall apart.

"Rehearsal," Sam and Jess said at the same time. They looked at each other, and Becky saw Jess's cheeks turn a nice shade of pink. She smiled at them.

"That's so cool! I love it when people say things at the same time. Oh, and finish each other's sentences. Do you guys ever do that?"

Sam chucked and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Jess. "Uh, not really."

"Oh, that's okay." They were approaching the front of the lunch line. Reluctantly, Becky swung her bag around and shoved her books back inside. She would need free hands to carry her tray to whatever table Sam and Jess were sitting at. The thought still made her tingle with excitement. This was actually happening.

"After you," Sam said when the got to the front of the line. For one shining moment, Becky thought that he was talking to her. She beamed and was about to thank him when Jess smiled at him and moved ahead. Sam followed close behind her, leaving Becky to take up the rear. That was fine. She liked being in the back. That way, she didn't have to stand around awkwardly and wait for them to finish getting their food. She could follow them immediately to their table.

"So what are you getting?" she asked, standing on tiptoe to be closer to Sam's ear. It was loud in the cafeteria, and conversation was impossible unless you were shouting or right up in somebody's personal space. Becky didn't mind the excuse to get closer to Sam.

He jerked away from the sudden closeness to her, and Becky couldn't hold back a blush. He rubbed the back of his neck again and she watched his eyes search the lunch line. He was looking for Jess, but she was already waiting for them a ways off. There was a sad-looking salad and a bottle of water on her tray. Becky had been thinking about getting a slice of pizza, but suddenly a salad seemed a lot more inviting. No matter how limp the lettuce looked.

"Sandwich, I guess," Sam said. He pulled a couple bucks out of his pocket and grimaced. "Maybe just a bag of chips."

"Do you not have enough money?" she asked, gaping. "Because I've got plenty if you want to borrow some. Really, I don't mind." She pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of her bag and waved it at Sam. He shook his head, waving the money away.

"Thanks but I don't borrow money."

"Oh, that's fine," Becky assured him, pocketing the bill again. "I don't like borrowing from people, either. I don't like owing them, you know?"

"Yeah," he mumbled as he grabbed the biggest bag of Doritos that the cafeteria stocked. Becky did the same. She didn't want to buy a full lunch in front of him. She was too excited to eat much, anyway. She shadowed Sam as they both paid for their food and then they met up with Jess. She smiled brilliantly at Sam, and he smiled back. Becky smiled at no one as they walked to an empty table. Nobody else from their friend group was there, yet. Becky took a seat right across from Sam and Jess, forcing herself to sit still.

Soon, she would be laughing with them. She would know the jokes and the stories. This was it.

* * *

Ruby's seat in physics seemed far too noticeable to Gabriel, but that was probably because it was empty. He knew just as well as everyone else that Ruby was at school today. He also knew, just like everyone else, that she was probably somewhere on the school premises getting higher every second. Gabriel rolled his eyes at nothing and listened to Mrs. Mills again. He didn't want to be in the dark completely during this lab.

As she explained the procedures, Gabriel leaned back in his seat. All thoughts about Ruby getting high faded to the back of his mind. He had been right before in saying that physics labs didn't do it for him the same way chem labs did. Physics was too safe. When the teacher began to go down the list of partners, he sat up straight and got ready to move.

"Anna Milton… Gabriel Novak."

That made him want to sit back again and groan. Really? Anna? There was no doubt in his mind that she would be asking him more questions about Castiel. He loved his big brother—he really did—but he did not want to discuss him with a girl from his grade. Especially not the very hot yet very stuck up Anna Milton.

And here he had been hoping to have some fun splashing people with water.

"I've got a table over here," Anna called as soon as Mrs. Mills set them free. Gabriel made a show of dragging himself up out of his chair and shuffling across the classroom to where Anna was situated. She had already gotten their supplies for the lab together. He should have thanked her for that, but Gabriel didn't consider him the polite sort. He didn't thank her.

"I can record if you want to do the tests," she offered, opening her notebook to a blank page.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at her. On a normal day, Anna would have said that she was going to do the work. Probably because Gabriel was too much of an idiot and he would screw up the whole lab. She was playing nice.

"Why?" he demanded.

Anna opened her mouth to make an excuse and Gabriel crossed his arms. She seemed to reconsider, and then sighed. "Okay. Fine. I wanted to ask you more about Castiel."

Gabriel snorted. "You have no shame."

She ignored his comment, though her cheeks got a little pinker. "Did you mean what you said in the cafeteria this morning?"

"About what?"

"About him not… about him being gay." Her voice dropped down to a whisper, and Gabriel barely heard her over the sound of other students starting their labs.

He didn't respond right away. He was completely positive that Castiel wasn't straight. Even though they had never actually discussed it before, Gabriel just _knew_. And once, when they were kids, Castiel told him that he had a crush on a star from one of the TV shows that they watched. That star happened to be a man. And the way Castiel looked at other guys… he was definitely not straight.

"Yeah. I meant it."

Her face fell. "Always go for the worst ones or the unavailable ones," she muttered to herself, scratching the tip of her pen against the paper of her notebook. Gabriel blinked, unsure what to do. Was he supposed to comfort her or something? It was her fault for finding his brother attractive.

"Uh… sorry—"

"Forget about it," Anna said sharply, cutting him off. From the look on her face, he followed her orders. "Let's just get this assignment done."

"Fine by me."

They worked in relative silence for a while, only saying anything to each other when they needed to read off a measurement or record a reading. Twice, Gabriel's phone buzzed from his pocket but he refused to answer the text—it was probably Balthazar bitching about how boring history was—until he was out from under Anna's vigilant eye.

They finished the lab halfway through class—well before any other group. Without saying a word, Anna gathered up their supplies and deposited them on Mrs. Mills's desk. Gabriel took the opportunity to whip out his phone. He had been right; it was Balthazar.

_Is Ruby in your class? _

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. Weird question. He responded: _Yeah but she isn't here. _

_Oh._ Gabriel was going to need a little more than that.

_Why do you care?_

_Meg's not here, either_

He rolled his eyes at the phone. _So?_

_Idk. Forget about it. _

_Ok._

Anna came back right then, and Gabriel shoved his phone back into his jeans. They just had to do the post-lab questions and then they were free to go. He scooted his chair closer to Anna and they bent their heads together, neither wanting to stay in class for much longer.

* * *

"Do you usually sit with anybody at lunch?" Charlie asked, dragging Castiel over into the lunch line. It was shorter now because they were late—Castiel had wanted to drop his books off in his locker, which was in the opposite direction coming from the anatomy room. Charlie hadn't minded. She was too excited about the prospect of getting Castiel into Dean Winchester's pants. She had never found him attractive—he was too rugged and muscly for her tastes, and he had one appendage too many hanging between the legs—but she was determined to make this work for her new friend.

"Typically I eat quickly and go to the library."

"A man after my own heart," she said with a grin. "Wow… never thought I'd say that. But anywho, you're sitting with me today. We're going to work on battle strategy."

"Battle strategy?" he asked dryly, handing a tray to her and getting one for himself. They grabbed a small amount of food and paid for it. Charlie didn't even pay attention to what she bought. She was busy scanning the cafeteria for Dean and his friends. They had to snag a table from which they could see Dean without him noticing that they were looking. It sounded creepy but it worked.

At least, that's what Charlie told herself.

"Come on, I see a place." She grabbed onto Castiel's wrist and towed him to an empty table on the far side of the cafeteria, by the widows overlooking the football field. They would have a pretty clear view of Dean's table. It was perfect.

"I take it I'm not going to the library today," Castiel sighed as they sat down together.

"Nope. We have more important things to do." She glanced down at her tray for the first time and thanked her subconscious. She got the most beautiful-looking slice of pizza and a bag of baked Lays. Perfect. She looked over at Castiel's lunch. He just got an apple and some water.

"That's all you're eating?" she asked incredulously, taking a big bite of her pizza. The cheese-sauce ration was perfect, but then again the pizza never disappointed here. It was one of the few cafeteria foods that always hit the spot.

"I don't eat much."

"Clearly." She wordlessly put down her pizza and ripped open her bag of chips. Castiel watched, his head cocked to the side, as she pulled his tray over to him and poured half of the chips onto it.

"What are you doing?"

"I am giving you nutrients. Believe me, you don't need to be dieting." She slid the tray back over to him and scanned the cafeteria. "We've got a Winchester at twelve o'clock." Castiel looked up from his lunch and Charlie smiled, patting herself on the back over the perfect seating choice. Dean and Castiel were facing each other directly. If Dean happened to look over at them, he and Castiel would meet eyes. It would be so romantic, Charlie thought to herself, sighing contentedly.

"Why does that matter?" Castiel asked, still staring over at Dean. He and his friends laughed loudly over something, and Jo Harvelle punched Dean lightly in the shoulder.

"We're plotting on how to get you two together."

"We will be together after school. I'm tutoring him."

Charlie threw her hands over her head in exasperation. "I mean _together_ together. You know, _boyfriends_ together. Goodness how have you gotten through high school without me?" She laughed and popped a chip in her mouth. "See, we need to find out if he's into you. And if he is, then we need to get you two _together_." She winked conspiratorially at Castiel.

"I don't understand what you're saying," he said flatly.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, this is going to be harder than I thought," she muttered to herself, taking another big bite of cheesy goodness.

And then who but Anna Milton appeared out of nowhere, making Charlie choke on her pizza. She didn't even spare Charlie a second glance, and kept those dark green eyes trained solely on Castiel. Charlie allowed herself to take in the sight of Anna leaning across the table, her hair falling gently over her shoulders, and the green neckline of her sweater riding lower than Charlie would have expected. She kept her eyes up, though. No need to scare the girl off.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Anna told Castiel. "I—I didn't mean to come on so strongly."

One glance at Castiel was enough to know he had no clue what she was talking about. He just stared at her, his eyes narrowed and his mouth working as if he was trying to say something, but couldn't find the words.

"It's fine, don't worry about it."

And Anna walked away without another word, crossing the cafeteria to go sit with the other junior girls.

"Um… what was that?" Charlie demanded, watching that beautiful head of red hair sink down into the sea of students.

"She gave me her cell phone number this morning and told me I was cute," he said, picking up a chip from his tray and examining it as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Charlie knit her brows together and looked back at the direction Anna had gone. She had given a guy her number. She was interested in boys, and unless she went both ways that was bad news. Maybe Anna wasn't Charlie's elven princess after all. She didn't want to admit it, but that stung more than she expected. She had been so hopeful about Anna.

College was going to be a whole new ballpark, though. She was going to meet girls who liked girls openly, like Charlie, and she would fall in love and buy a little apartment in some city with the girl of her dreams and they would be happy. No high school drama. No awkward long-distance relationships.

And right now was not the time for grieving what could have been, because Dean Winchester was staring at Castiel from across the cafeteria. Sure, he was trying to be subtle, but Charlie could see his eyes floating over here every few seconds and landing on the boy sitting next to Charlie. He, of course, was oblivious, picking at the skin of his apple. His face was set in a mask of deep concentration. Charlie looked between Dean's wandering eyes and Castiel's head and it was clear as crystal to her. Dean was staring at Castiel like Charlie would stare at a free VIP ticket to Comic Con. There was no doubt in her mind that he was smitten with Castiel.

Maybe things would turn out better for the two of them than they did for her and Anna.

"Don't look now but Dean is staring your way. This is very good news," Charlie whispered, leaning over to Castiel. Of course, his head jerked up at the mention of Dean's name and for one shining moment, just as Charlie predicted, they met eyes from across the cafeteria. Both of them lit up. Dean grinned, one side of his mouth twitching up, and Castiel nodded, his own lips curving into a faint smile. Charlie's eyes darted between them, and yes, she was sure that things would work out.

People not meant to be didn't look at each other like that.

* * *

"You know, if it's supposed to be a secret or something you could try to be a little less obvious," Jo said nonchalantly, taking a bite of her sandwich. "I mean, your tongue is practically hanging out of your mouth."

"Yeah, well mind your own business," Dean grumbled, his eyes dropping back to his empty tray. Jo was convinced that she had never in her whole life seen someone eat a meal as fast as Dean could. He scarfed the whole thing down in ten minutes and spent the rest of lunch trying to look at that dark-haired blue-eyed boy without anyone else noticing. Naturally, Jo noticed.

They had gone through most of the period without talking about it, but both of them knew it was coming. Jo needed answers. This was something Dean would _never_ be able to put aside with her. Everybody else had gone to get ready for next period or something, which left them in peace.

"So what's his name?" Jo asked, glancing over her shoulder. She saw the boy sitting next to Charlie again, both of them talking quietly with each other. Well, it looked like Charlie was doing most of the talking. Castiel was just listening closely, his eyes shooting over to Dean every once in a while. At least it was obvious he was into Dean, or this could have been a huge problem.

Dean chuckled, and Jo turned around again, confused. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing… it's just that I was asking Sam the same question this morning about a girl he likes."

"Did he tell you her name?"

"Yeah. Jess, I think. They're sitting over there." He jerked his thumb over to a table closer to the lunch line, where Sam was surrounded by his freshman friends. He was sitting next to a girl with beautiful blonde hair that fell in perfect waves. Jo wondered idly if she worked hard to get it like that or if it was natural.

"You know, you're not getting off the hook that easily," she said, smirking at Dean. He didn't look surprised.

"I figured."

"So what is the guy's name?" she repeated. "I've got him in a few of my classes, but I can't remember his name for the life of me."

"Castiel Novak."

"Castiel, really? That's kind of a weird name."

"Well I think it's really cool," Dean shot back, bristling.

Jo held her hands up, laughing. "Okay, okay, down boy. I was just making an observation. Your boyfriend's name is very cool."

"He's not my… boyfriend," he mumbled.

"Yet."

"Yeah, whatever, can we talk about something else?" Dean shifted in his seat, glancing around the room. Jo followed the direction he was looking at and saw Michael and Zachariah sitting down among a group of big jock guys. Some boy named Raphael actually moved so that Michael would have a seat. It was like they treated him like king of the world or something. _Scumbag_, Jo thought snidely.

"They're not going to hear you from way over there," she assured Dean. "Nobody's gonna hear you but me. You've been putting this conversation off for basically eighteen years, so it's time to let the bisexual cat out of the bag."

Dean grimaced at the word, but he didn't deny it. Jo took that as a good sign.

"Have you known for a long time or is this a relatively new thing?" she prodded.

"Um, I guess I've kinda known for a while," he said quietly.

Jo reached over the table and pinched his arm painfully. Dean shot her an injured look.

"What the hell was that for?"

"Thanking you for the prompt update, asswipe. You could've told me, you know." She leaned back again.

"I was—"

"Ah, ah, no excuses," she said sharply, holding a hand up. "You will answer my questions and not complain."

"Of course, your royal highness," Dean said with mock reverence. Jo rolled her eyes.

"You really are an asshole. You know that, right?"

"I live to serve."

"Stop trying to change the topic. You're not getting out of this."

"You were the one calling _me_ an asshole, remember?"

"Whatever," she snapped. "Is this the first guy you've liked?"

Dean nodded.

"Good. Do you want to go out with him?"

"Yeah I guess so."

"Okay." She grinned mischievously. "Do you want to fuck him passionately against a wall?"

Dean turned an alarming shade of red and fixed Jo with a horrified expression. "Wh—Jesus _Christ_, Jo. Oh my _God_."

"Answer the question, Winchester," she commanded.

He just turned a darker shade of red and stared down at the table.

"I am going to take that as a yes," she informed him.

Somehow, his face became even redder and Jo couldn't help it anymore. She broke down laughing, and before long, he was laughing along with her.

* * *

It was about halfway through lunch when Sam noticed something was off about Becky. Her eyes seemed too bright, she always laughed a little too loud, and she seemed to latch onto every topic of conversation and drag it down until it died. It wasn't long after the rest of the group sat down around her that she was getting weird looks and sidelong glances.

There was a reason she always sat alone.

Sam sent Jess a look that communicated his concern, but she wasn't paying attention to him. She was laughing with one of her friends, Christina, over this TV show that aired on Saturday. Apparently, it must be hilarious, because Becky chimed in, laughing louder than any of them. Sam didn't even know if she watched the show or not.

Things took a turn from bad to worse when Garth showed up.

"Hey guys," he said amiably as he claimed the last free seat at the table. There was a chorus of greetings in response, and he smiled.

"What are you doing here?" Becky demanded. Everybody at the table stared at her. They had tolerated her quirkiness—this was a group of generally nice people—but they didn't like the blatant rudeness she was exhibiting, now. Sam sighed inwardly. This wasn't going to end well, he could tell.

"Eating lunch?" Garth offered, picking up his turkey sandwich and gesturing to it. He wasn't at all put off by her impoliteness. Garth was the most easygoing guy Sam knew. Sometimes he was a bit clueless, but he was a good person.

"No, why are you sitting here?"

"He's our friend, Becky," Christina said, looking at her like she had two heads.

"He works sound and lights for the musical," Jess elaborated. "Sam and I got to know him this year and asked him to sit with us. He's a good friend." She grinned warmly at Garth.

"Aw, thanks Jess," he said, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"He sits here every day?" Becky asked. Sam noticed her voice was getting higher and higher, and she looked panicked. People were glancing at each other out of the corners of their eyes, some trying not to laugh and others seeming genuinely concerned.

"Yeah," Jess said. "What's wrong with that?"

"I—but—he…" Becky trailed off, her face getting red and her breath coming out in shallow gasps. "But this morning—"

"I said he was rude, but I wasn't going to ask him to not sit with us or something," Jess laughed, looking uncomfortable.

"I am sorry about what happened," Garth said sincerely.

"No, this isn't right," Becky breathed, running a hand through her frizzy hair. Sam and Jess met eyes, both unsure how to handle this. "This isn't how this is supposed to be."

"Hey, breathe," Jess said in her most soothing voice. Her face looked strained, but she had no affect on Becky. "It's not that big a deal—"

"Of course it's a big deal!" Becky snapped, and that made people raise their eyebrows.

"Look, Garth is our friend and if you have a problem with that then just say so," Jess said, her voice getting low. Sam had never heard her sound so… dangerous. He shifted uncomfortably along with the rest of the friend group. It was scary how fast Jess could go from concerned, comforting friend to menacing.

"Oh, look at the time. I've got to go get my books for class," Christina said, looking up at the clock on the wall. There was still twenty minutes left in the period, and Sam didn't blame them for wanting to leave. He wanted to get out of there, too. People stood up and escaped, one by one, until it was just Becky, Jess, Sam, and Garth left at the table.

"You should really apologize," Jess said. Her voice was a mix between caring mother and strict teacher.

"I—no!" Becky shouted, indignant. She looked offended.

Jess sighed. "Then we have nothing more to say to you." She stood up with her tray, glancing at Sam and Garth in turn. "Come on, guys." They both stood up, taking their trays with them.

Sam looked apologetically at Becky, but she was too intent on staring at the table to notice. Dejectedly, he swung his backpack over his shoulder and followed Jess and Garth out of the cafeteria.

He didn't notice when a small, plastic thing flew out of the front pocket of his bag and slid right up against Becky's foot. He didn't see when she leaned down, the tears beginning to slide down her face, and picked up the CD she had given him this morning. He didn't see her heart beak into a thousand pieces.


	8. Chapter 8

Charlie felt a strong sense of satisfaction as she watched Castiel dump his trash and return his tray to the lunch ladies. He said that he had a calculus test this period and apparently Dean did, too. He must want to get to class early to ogle at his future boyfriend. If Charlie had anything to say about it, Dean would be his boyfriend within the week. She could see it now: the first openly gay couple that Lawrence High School had ever seen, holding hands as they waked down the hallway together. Maybe that sight would prompt some other kids to come out, too. She sighed and crossed her legs, resting her forehead against her hand. That was just wishful thinking.

But it was still nice to have someone to relate to for once.

"Charlie?" Jo Harvelle suddenly appeared in her field of vision, and Charlie raised her eyebrows. Wow. Talking to her twice in one day? That was unusual.

"Yeah?"

"Do you have a minute?" she asked, sitting down across from her. "This is about Dean and Castiel."

Charlie's face broke into a gleeful smile. "Go on."

Jo smirked and said, "I've known Dean my whole life and I know he is too stubborn to ever make the first move on a thing like this."

That wasn't what Charlie had wanted to hear. "Castiel seems to prefer admiring him from afar."

"Well then we are just going to have to show them that we have the balls they clearly lack and get them together."

Charlie laughed, amazed at how frank Jo was being about this. She must have known about Dean's side of the crush for a long time. "Exactly what I was thinking."

"So do you have any ideas on when we can make this happen?"

The answer was already on the tip of Charlie's tongue. "Today. Castiel's tutoring Dean on English after school. I know one day isn't enough to get them to fall in love or anything, but how perfect is that?"

"Seriously? After school today."

Charlie nodded, unsure what to make of her non-celebratory tone, and Jo scowled.

"The asshole! He's giving me a ride home. You'd think he would tell me something like that. But whatever. It's not like he ever tells me anything anymore. So where is this happening?"

"I think the library."

"Good—"

"Hey, Harvelle," a slick voice cut her off. Charlie and Jo both looked up into the face of Michael Smith, and Charlie immediately felt her blood boil. After seeing the way that that douche nozzle treated Castiel this morning, he had risen to number one on her metaphorical hit list, followed by his personal flying monkey, Zachariah. They were no-good pricks and Charlie would be more than happy to reintroduce their shins to her foot.

"What do you want?" Jo snapped, turning back around so she wasn't facing him. That didn't seem to make Michael too happy. He narrowed his eyes and slid down into the chair next to her, somehow making a relaxed motion look aggressive. Charlie felt her skin prickle. She could tell that he was bad news for Jo.

"For you to reconsider," he crooned, leaning closer to Jo's ear. Charlie noted the way his eyes flicked down to her neckline and the waistband of her jeans and then back up again before Jo noticed. His eyes were dark and threatening. Yeah—he definitely meant bad news.

"Fuck off."

Michael retracted as if stung. "Ouch. That hurts. Truly." He placed a hand over his chest in mock sincerity. "But you understand that this wouldn't be so awful for you, now would it? A nice dinner, maybe a movie or something—"

"No means no, you dick," Charlie cut in, standing her ground when Michael's gaze turned her way. He looked… amused. "Just leave her alone, already."

"Have a little crush, dyke?" he laughed, standing up. Charlie still didn't flinch at the words, even though they stung like a Morgul blade. She didn't have a response. Denying it would make Michael's words ring true. He nodded knowingly. "Right. Well. See you around, Harvelle," he said. As he walked behind her, he brushed his hand along her bare shoulder. It was easy to see the pure disgust and loathing in Jo's expression. Charlie was sure they were mirrored on her own face.

"Ugh that _creep_," Charlie spat as soon as he was out of earshot.

"I'm sorry he called you that."

She waved a hand. "Forget about it." She stopped talking abruptly when Dean replaced Michael, standing over Jo's shoulder.

"Hey, we've got that math test, Jo," he said, glancing at the thick black watch on his wrist. "We're gonna be late."

"Yeah, I'm coming." She shrugged apologetically at Charlie and stood up. "You've got French last period, right? We can talk then."

"Sounds good." She smiled and waved as Dean led Jo away. This was going to be fun, she thought. She really loved the whole plotting aspect. It made her feel like some super villain… despite the fact that she was trying to made somebody happy rather than achieve world domination or something.

Almost instantly, Jo's seat was filled by Harry, and the seat where Michael had been was occupied by Ed. They both stared at her in awe.

"Why were you talking to them?" Harry asked, looking defensive. Charlie raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why does it matter?"

He saw instantly that he was treading on thin ice and changed gears. "Uh, yeah. You don't often speak with the high and mighty on the food chain." She rolled her eyes as the two sophomores began eating their lunches. She had a free period now, thankfully. It was her only time to be around the two of them during school hours. Sometimes she felt like she barely saw them at all anymore, and she was leaving for college in a few months. Then she might not see them again. The thought of that made her want to hug them both tightly and not let them go. These two got her through her tougher years of high school. She might not even be here if it weren't for them.

So she had to make these last few months memorable.

"Jo Harvelle isn't the _high and mighty_," she protested, snagging a French fry from Ed's tray. He didn't even complain, but he did shoot her an annoyed glare.

"Do you even know what school you go to? Of course she is," Harry insisted around a large bite of ham sandwich. He always brought bagged lunch to school. His mom had a thing about germs in the cafeteria.

"She just wanted to know about Castiel."

"Who?" Harry demanded, getting defensive again. Charlie gave him a look, and he deflated.

"Some guy that I was talking to today. He is interested in another _boy_ and Jo and I want to help him out." Harry's face transformed with relief, and he took another huge bite of his sandwich. Charlie sighed. The boy would never learn.

"Well good for you, talking to normal people," Ed congratulated with a smirk.

"Thank you, thank you very much," she said, bowing as well as she could sitting down. Ed and Harry smiled appreciatively and began delving into conversation about their movie marathon tonight.

* * *

Meg had more or less recovered from the smoking. Well, not really. She was telling herself that she was recovered. She had only taken the joint from Ruby a few times, and let her fucking _brother_ and Ruby have the most fun. She could still feel her heart pounding from the feeling of the smoke curling and squeezing her lungs and her breath coming out in short pants. There was an empty smile stretched across her face.

"I could eat a fucking cow right now," Ruby said, rubbing her eyes as they walked into the cafeteria. Meg tried to focus and make herself look as not-stoned as possible. It's not like the teachers could do anything worse to her than the treatment she got at home, but they could still be a pain in her ass.

"Same," she sighed. The line was too long. Her stomach was growling too loud. Her heartbeat was in her ears. Could other people hear it? She shook her head in a desperate attempt at clearing it. Of course people couldn't hear her heartbeat. That would be ridiculous.

"I think I love your brother," Ruby said. Her voice was soft, and Meg wasn't really sure if she had meant to say that out loud or not. "He's a really good kisser."

She felt her skin crawl from the base of her neck to her toes. "Do me a favor—" She coughed "—and never talk about him again around me. It's weird as fuck."

"Sheesh, calm down," Ruby said, eyeing her in surprise. "Whatever."

"Yeah, whatever."

For a moment, Meg thought about how school would be different if people were allowed to ride bicycles to classes. Then, somehow, they were at the front of the line. Weren't they just at the back, behind over thirty people? Meg blinked in confusion and shook her head again pointlessly.

"Come on," someone groaned from behind her. "Go."

Meg whipped around, eyes flying open and came face to face with Balthazar White. Again.

_Shit_.

"Meg." He nodded.

He was the last person she wanted to see again. He was on to her. He _knew_. Meg spun back aground, grabbing a tray, and stacked it with whatever her hands came into contact with first. Just when she thought she might have enough, she grabbed some more because she was definitely sure that she would die from hunger in a few minutes.

Balthazar was right behind her again when she got on line to pay.

"That's a lot of food, there," he commented, raising his eyebrows at her tray. Meg didn't respond. She couldn't. He would smell the smoke on her breath and call her out on it.

"Got a bad case of the munchies, do ya?"

She felt her body go stiff all over. Why wasn't the line moving faster? The other one only lasted a second. This one felt like hours. Eventually, she reached the front. Ruby was waiting for her on the other side, a dazed look on her face. She was already wolfing down fries, and her tray was as loaded as Meg's.

"I said it before and I'll say it again. You aren't fooling anyone, and you're only hurting yourself," Balthazar said quietly as he paid for his food. He didn't even look at Meg as he brushed by her, heading over to where Gabriel Novak and a few other guys were already sitting.

"Piss off, buzz kill," she growled, but he was already too far away to hear.

Her stomach roared again, and Ruby looked like she would start eating her tray soon, so Meg grabbed a seat and dug into her lunch, the cafeteria fading in and out of focus in time with the pounding of her heart. The high was long gone and the aftereffects were fucking up her day.

* * *

Her face felt wet, but Becky didn't have the strength to wipe it. She didn't even think that she had the strength to breathe, but somehow she still was. She didn't want to be breathing. She didn't want to be anything. She was crushed beyond recognition.

She knew that she was overreacting. Garth sat with the table of perfect kids. So what? But today, he represented everything bad and Sam and his friends represented everything good. They weren't supposed to overlap. They were supposed to be on opposite sides of the cafeteria, not touching while Becky was sitting at the good table. She had built them up so high in her mind, and to see reality fall so low was the most painful thing she had ever experienced.

So maybe she wasn't overreacting.

Heavily, she lifted a hand off the table and wiped the tears away from her face. Her other hand was wrapped tightly around the plastic CD case, the sharp edges digging into her skin. She didn't feel it.

Sam said that he would listen to it. Or did he? She honestly couldn't remember. Things seemed out of focus before lunch. All she had been thinking about since the end of first period was lunch. _The_ lunch. The lunch that would change everything. Maybe it really did change everything, but it wasn't how she expected it to happen. This was supposed to be a good thing, not something that ripped her to pieces.

She wiped her face again and forced her fingers to relax their grip on the CD case.

"Hey, are you alright?"

For one second—one shining second when the tears stopped leaking out of her eyes and the dark clouds hanging over her head evaporated—Becky thought that the voice belonged to Sam. She turned around to face him so quickly that she cracked her neck, but she bore through the pain because he was here to apologize. When he took away the emotional pain, her neck throbbing wouldn't seem so bad.

It wasn't Sam. It was some sophomore, maybe a junior, with cropped brown hair and a gangly appearance. The lack of a mop of brown hair and a warm, easy smile brought on a fresh wave of tears, and Becky dropped her head down to the table, covering it with her arms. Why did this boy care? Nobody cared about her. She was barely able to hold back the roaring sobs. She made herself to cry quietly. It wasn't like she needed to be even more embarrassed.

It was quiet for a moment, and then a chair scraped next to her. She felt a warm hand rest on her arm. Becky wanted to shake it away. She didn't want to talk to this boy, but she didn't have the energy.

"Do you want to talk about it?" a decidedly _not_ male voice asked.

Becky raised her head slowly and met eyes with a short, redheaded senior. She had seen this girl around before, but she had no idea what her name was.

"Sorry, I'm Charlie," the girl said, lips twitching into a quick smile. It was like she could read Becky's mind. "That's Harry, and he's Ed." She pointed to two boys who were taking seats across from the two girls. "We saw you sitting over here all alone and thought that you might like some company. Is it okay if we sit with you?"

Becky shrugged and eyed the three newcomers warily. She couldn't tell if this was a joke or if they were genuinely worried about her. She didn't care either way.

"Rough day?" Charlie asked, rubbing her hand up and down Becky's arm. It was hypnotically soothing, Becky thought; just like when her mother rubbed her back after she had nightmares as a kid. She could feel the muscles in her back relaxing immediately.

She nodded, unsure if her voice would work if she tried speaking.

"We've all been there," Ed said sympathetically.

Charlie nodded and dropped her hand. "He's right. We're what you can call the 'underdogs' I guess."

"Yep," Harry chimed in, smiling brightly at Becky. He was the boy who had asked her if she was okay. Becky studied his face and thought he looked nice… handsome, even. "We're a small bunch of losers."

Becky cleared her throat. "Then I guess we have something in common." She looked at the three of them in turn, staring intensely at their faces. None of them seemed upset about their low status on the high school pecking order. They actually seemed pretty happy about it. "You're okay with being… losers?"

Charlie shrugged. "I wouldn't call us losers, really. We just don't conform to the masses. We're special flowers." She smiled. "We're not worse or better than anybody else. Just different."

"That, and we probably cite Lord of the Rings too much in casual conversation," Harry laughed. Ed smirked along with him, taking a bite of his lunch.

Becky rubbed her nose and actually managed to crack a smile. "I've seen Lord of the Rings before. My dad loves those movies."

"Really?" Harry asked, his eyes lighting up.

Charlie sighed and leaned back in her chair. "You have no idea what you just got yourself into, Becky," she said teasingly.

Becky forced out a laugh that sounded strained, but it didn't feel strained. She felt better, talking to these three strange people. She didn't feel quite so alone anymore.

* * *

Adam half-listened to the conversation at the table, his eyes constantly scanning the cafeteria. He was both keeping an eye out for that dick Michael Smith and Tessa. He had never seen her down at the cafeteria at lunch before, but then again he had never actively looked for her before. He didn't see her in the overcrowded room now, so he focused most of his attention on keeping an eye out for Michael. Lunchtime was his favorite period to prowl around and find his victims.

There was a loud ripple of laughter through the table of students he was sitting at and Adam glanced around at all of them, smiling but having no clue what was so funny. He didn't know half of these people beyond first names and the extracurricular activities. There was Thomas over on the far side of the table, and Adam knew he played clarinet or something like that. He didn't know what classes he took or what music he liked. That girl, Isabella, sitting next to him was in his chemistry class but beyond that she was a stranger. These people didn't know anything about him, either. Not that he lived alone with his mom, trying to work out a shitload of problems. Not that he had to always be on guard in the lunchroom for assholes like Michael. They just knew that he was the quiet, awkward kid who sometimes sat with them at lunch because he never really had anywhere else to go.

They laughed loudly again when some guy threw a chip at Thomas's face. Somehow, he managed to catch it with his thin, wide lips. For some reason, everybody got a kick out of that. Adam thought about how much his mom would disapprove of throwing food at each other. She would hate it.

Adam smiled blankly and ate some more of his lunch, his eyes scanning the crowds once again. No Michael in sight. He felt safe enough to get up and dump his tray, thinking maybe if he got to his next class early he could manage to get a head start on the homework he had already gotten for tonight. There was still twenty or so minutes left in the period. He could definitely make a dent in the Spanish worksheet if he really tried. Adam was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he let his guard down for the first time all period.

As soon as he stepped out into the deserted hallway, Adam felt a heavy hand fall down on his shoulder and a muscular arm wrap around him the way a guy would greet his brother or a good friend. The hold was a little too tight, though, and Adam knew he was in deep shit.

"So somebody told me they saw you go to the guidance councilor," Michael said, walking alongside Adam and making the younger boy stagger under the weight of his arm. Adam could feel himself freezing up. He was alone and defenseless. Already, his bruises from the last time were throbbing.

"I thought I made myself very _clear_," he went on, squeezing Adam's shoulder painfully at the last word. "You scratch my back, I scratch yours, right?"

In no way was this getting his back stretched, he thought. Adam swallowed and refused to look into Michael's cold, gray eyes. He knew he couldn't hold that gaze and he didn't want to look weak.

"You know, it's polite to answer when someone is talking to you." Another painful squeeze. Michael's fingernails dug into Adam's skin.

"Yeah," he said, his voice catching.

Michael laughed as they reached the end of the hallway. "So you aren't squealing, are you?" He placed his other hand on Adam's shoulder, in an incredibly fatherly way, and forced Adam to look him right in the face. There was nowhere to run.

"N-no."

"That's just what I thought." Michael wagged a finger at him, cocking an eyebrow and smirking. "Now don't you go talking to any guidance councilors anymore, you hear me? It won't be pretty for anybody."

Adam nodded and dropped his eyes to the floor.

Michael made a sound of disgust and shoved Adam away, causing the smaller boy to slam into the lockers with a loud _bang_. Adam's head struck the cold metal, and for a moment he saw stars. He had to blink his eyes rapidly to clear his vision, and by the time he could see straight Michael had disappeared and he was alone in the hallway again.

His breath came out shaky as he pushed himself away from the lockers. Gently, Adam touched the back of his head. There was no cut, but he could already feel a tender bump. That was going to ache for a few days. Taking another breath, he began to walk to his next class.

Maybe he could still get his Spanish done, but he doubted he could even hold a pen given how badly his hands were shaking.

* * *

Dean's last thought before handing the test in was _fuck it_. He knew he failed it (to be fair, he had barely put any effort into studying), but he couldn't find it within himself to care. It was the last few months of senior year. He was accepted into college. He didn't give a fuck anymore. So Dean handed in his bombed test with pride, grinning widely at Mr. Henricksen. The teacher didn't look amused.

"If you finish the test," he said to the rest of the class, "you're free to go. Don't make too much noise in the halls, or else."

Dean gladly swung his bag across his back and strode out of the classroom along with a few of the other students who had finished early. Jo and Ash were still at their desks, actually trying to do well. Jo shot him a dark look as he passed through the door. He winked at her, and in the process didn't watch where he was going. So, like the idiot he was, he crashed right into somebody and nearly toppled them both over in the process.

"Shit, I'm so sorry," he said, regaining his balance and glancing at the other student.

Of course it was Castiel. Who else would it be?

Dean wanted to smack himself in the face. _Smooth move, jackass_, he thought to himself. Castiel was reaching to pick up a pencil that Dean had knocked out of his hands.

"Here, let me—" Dean offered, reaching to get it, too. He snaked his hand out and grabbed for the pencil, but he bent down too quickly and his head collided with Castiel's sharply.

"Ah, fuck," Dean swore, bolting back upright again and clapping a hand to his forehead. This was getting better and better. Castiel didn't seem shaken by getting smacked in the face by Dean's forehead, though he was rubbing his face gingerly. He was actually smiling, his lips quivering at the corners like he was barely containing a laugh. That same look was in his deep blue eyes, and Dean felt his face responding in kind. He began to chuckle and shake his head.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asked, studying Dean's forehead seriously.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. You?"

"I'm fine."

Dean noticed a small, yellow stick in Castiel's hand. "Got your pencil."

Castiel glanced down at the writing utensil like he had forgotten it was there. Dean began to laugh quietly, remembering what Mr. Henricksen said about not being too loud. Castiel looked so _confused_. It was really charming, actually.

"What class do you have next?" Dean asked, looking around. The other students who had finished their tests early were already gone.

"AP Physics."

"Wow, really? Double sciences?"

Castiel nodded.

"You must be really smart." Dean shrugged. "I'm going that way, too." He gestured for Castiel to lead the way. "After you."

Castiel quietly moved down the hallway. Dean noticed that his footsteps barely made a sound, and his in comparison sounded like elephants stomping. How did the guy move so quietly? Dean consciously tried to do it and felt like one of the guys from Mission Impossible, walking on tiptoe. It didn't work for him.

"So do you like sciences a lot or what? I would never take double," he commented.

Castiel shrugged. "My father's an architect. He wants me to have a background at least in what he does, if not a career."

"I get that. My old man's hoping that me or my brother go into the Marines like him. That or work the mechanic shop he owns. He'd be over the moon with either."

"Your father was in the military?"

"Yup. Second battalion first marines echo company. He's big on the whole being a hero thing." Dean sighed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Castiel glance over at him. "You don't want to be a Marine."

"No."

"Or a mechanic."

"Not really."

"What do you want to be, then?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Uh, I haven't really thought it out yet. I want to travel. Maybe go across the country when Sammy graduates or something. I was thinking something like a fireman or whatever. I get the whole hero thing my dad's all about. I like the idea of helping people."

"I see."

They passed by the doors to the cafeteria, and boisterous noise filtered out. Dean snuck a peek inside and saw the room cramped with students having conversations or trying to study and things like that. It was chaos in there, but somehow organized.

Jo had been up to something at lunch today, he was sure of it. The way she was talking with that girl—Charlie—and the way she kept looking at Castiel. She was plotting.

"So this is going to sound weird but has my friend Jo talked to you at all today?" he asked Castiel, feeling edgy. Jo would fuck this all up, and he couldn't let that happen. She was just so goddamn _nosy_ sometimes.

"No."

"Oh… okay. Good."

Castiel stopped walking abruptly, and Dean had to double back for a moment. He looked around at his surroundings and saw that they had reached the AP Physics room. Castiel seemed like he wanted to go inside, and Dean felt a bit dejected about that. He had really liked talking to Castiel. It was easy.

"So I'll see you after school," he said, backing away a few steps.

"Alright."

"Okay. Um… bye, then." With no grace whatsoever, Dean spun on his heel and walked back down the hallway they had come.

He had been lying earlier. He had government now, which was on the other side of the school. He saw the opportunity to talk some more with Castiel, and he took it. Was that so wrong?

Well, he was such a fucking dork through the whole conversation that he doubted it did him any good. Dean rubbed his forehead again as he jogged down the hallway. It was still sore from where he had crashed into Castiel's head.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a completely different experience sitting with Charlie, Ed, and Harry during that free period. Becky laughed a lot—something that she firmly believed would never ever happen again after lunch. Harry especially made her smile. He always seemed to find the greatest ways to fit his favorite 'nerdy' shows and movies into conversation. Sometimes, Becky didn't even notice until Charlie or Ed called him out on it. Then she would laugh along with them until another joke came along. It was the first time in a while she felt like she belonged. This was how lunch with Sam was supposed to feel.

It seemed that things didn't always go as expected.

"Damn, I've got to get to class," Ed said, standing up and looking down at his watch. Becky blinked. Had the period already passed? Usually this free and her lunch periods dragged by, but this one went as quick as the blink of an eye.

"To Euro!" Harry said, standing up and puffing his chest out like a superhero. Becky giggled and covered her mouth. She didn't notice the way Charlie's eyes darted in between them knowingly and hopefully.

"Bye, guys," Becky said as they picked up their trays.

"See you around," Ed replied. He was already walking away.

"It was really nice to meet you," Harry said, hovering by the table for a moment. He looked unsure what to do. Becky giggled again as Harry backed up a step, accidentally bumping into a dark-haired girl dressed in skin-tight clothes. Her face was covered in dark makeup, only highlighting her menacing scowl. She flared up the second he touched her.

"Hey," she barked, backing away as if stung. "Watch where the fuck you're going."

Another girl with dark hair, a bit shorter and more petite, appeared behind her, planting her arms on her hips and watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes.

"I—uh, sorry, Meg," Harry stammered, shrinking under her fiery glare. Becky noticed in the back of her mind that her eyes looked bloodshot. Maybe for some reason she had been crying, too. That would be weird. She didn't say anything about it.

"Whatever," the girl—Meg—growled. She exchanged a look with the shorter girl behind her and they both looked like they were about to break down into a fit of laughter. The shorter girl actually snorted.

"Move it," she said, pushing past Meg and Harry in a rough attempt to get out of the cafeteria. Becky watched them go silently, thinking she never wanted to tangle with them for as long as she went to this school. They looked like trouble.

"I'm gonna go catch up with Ed," Harry said in a rush. He didn't spare Charlie or Becky a backwards glance as he hurried out of the cafeteria. He must be really shaken. Becky knew she would be if she were in his shoes.

"I hate those girls," Charlie sighed.

"Who _are_ they?"

"Meg Masters and Ruby Donovan. Juniors. The worst kind."

"Really?" Becky breathed, watching the two dark heads as they left the cafeteria.

"Yeah, don't worry about them, though," Charlie assured her. "They usually keep to themselves and their dealers."

"Dealers?"

Charlie's eyes darted around and she moved closer to Becky. "You know, _dealers_. They're the school potheads."

"Oh," Becky whispered. Maybe that's what accounted for Meg's bloodshot eyes.

"Yup." She looked at the clock hanging on the wall of the cafeteria. "I've got to get to class, too. Government."

"Okay. I should go, too." They both stood up. Neither had a tray to get rid of, so by some wordless agreement they both began to head for the exit. Becky stayed close to Charlie's side. She felt safer next to this girl. She felt stronger.

"Thank you," she said once they reached the hallway. There was a fair number of students teeming around by the lockers, getting ready for their next classes.

"For what?" They both stopped at the end of the hallway, where it forked off left and right. They were both going in different directions.

"For what you did today." Becky wrung her hands together, not sure how to say this without sounding like an idiot. "I—I needed some company, I guess."

Charlie smiled and nodded. "We all do, sometimes."

"But thanks, anyway."

"No problem, Becky." She turned, as if to walk away, but then stopped and faced the younger girl again. Her face was serious and she seemed like she was almost talking to herself. "And you know, whoever made you so upset—they're not worth feeling that bad over. You're a really nice girl. Someone better will come around." Then she turned and walked away.

Becky furrowed her brow, two faces filling her mind's eye. One—shaggy brown hair, eyes that changed color like the sea, and a warm laugh. The other—short, dark hair cut modestly, green eyes, and an easygoing smirk. Maybe Charlie was right, and maybe someone better already had come along.

She walked to Biology with a smile growing on her face. Things had really turned around, hadn't they? She heard somewhere once that there had to be rain to see a rainbow. Those words had never rung truer. By the time she reached the Biology lab, she was practically beaming at nothing.

The smile disappeared when she walked in and saw the last free seat in the room was directly behind Sam Winchester. His head was bent low over a book, and he looked too concentrated to actually be reading it. Becky swallowed past the tightness in her throat—one period talking to a few nice people wouldn't magically erase a broken heart—and took the seat.

This was going to be the longest period of Biology ever, and she wanted it to be over already.

* * *

Adam carefully kept the seat next to him vacant as the rest of the students in his Euro class filtered into the classroom. He was pretty sure—no_,_ he was _positive_—that Tessa was in this class. If he tried hard enough he could remember her answering a question or taking a seat by him once or twice. He was _sure_. Still, why couldn't he remember her clearly?

Mrs. Moseley came walking in, and Adam's heart sank. Was she really not in this class? He had been so sure.

"How are we all doing today?" the teacher asked, dropping her bag on her desk and turning to face her students. "Did we enjoy the reading that most of us didn't do for homework?" Her sharp eyes scanned the room, which was filled with awkward, quiet laughter. "I thought so."

Adam frowned. Mrs. Moseley always seemed… odd to him. She could see right through people, as if she could read their minds. That always made it hard to bullshit her homework or lie about having done it. Somehow she always knew the truth and it creeped him out.

The door opened, and Ed and Harry came barging in.

"Latecomers," Mrs. Moseley said with mock enthusiasm. "Welcome!"

The class laughed with her at the two nerds' expense as they took their seats. Adam looked back at them with a sympathetic smile and froze. Somehow, Tessa was there. She was sitting right next to Ed in the back row with her notebook out and a pen in her hand. How the hell had she slipped in without him noticing? And he had been right! She _was_ in this class. Adam was too confused to feel proud of himself, though. Was she invisible girl or something?

"Huh… you all seem so far away," Mrs. Moseley said, pursing her lips at the class. "Tessa, would you mind moving up to this seat? Trust me, I won't bite."

Adam wanted to gape at the teacher. She knew when students were lying about homework. She could tell when someone was having a rough time. But _this_? How could she possibly know? What were the odds of that being random? The knowing smile Mrs. Moseley sent Adam's way as Tessa gathered her things was enough for him to know that there was nothing about chance in this. She had done that very strategically. But _how_?

Tessa slid silently into the chair next to him and laid out her notebook. Mrs. Moseley looked at the two of them, pleased, and began her lesson. Adam scrambled for something to say, but nothing could come to mind. He wasn't going to make a stupid comment like this morning again. _I like your shoes_. How dumb was that? His mind was going into overdrive as the rest of the class began to take notes on whatever Mrs. Moseley was lecturing about today. Almost absently, Adam reached into his backpack and fished out his notebook and a stray pen. What was he going to say? He had to come up with something fast.

"Hey," Tessa whispered, "I like your shoes."

Adam looked at her, wiggling his toes in his beat up old sneakers—his mom didn't have the time or money to go get him a new pair any time soon—and felt a smile break across his face. He wanted to laugh, but he knew Mrs. Moseley wouldn't like that at all. He restrained himself to a smile, hoping the laughter would be conveyed through his eyes.

"Thanks," he whispered back. Tessa grinned and ducked her head back over her notebook, her black hair falling between them.

Adam nodded and looked down at the blank page in his notebook. He was still smiling.

* * *

"Okay you've got to stop staring at her, man," Gabriel hissed around the clay sculpture he was working on. Balthazar didn't respond. His eyes kept darting between his own sculpture and Meg, who was working on her project across the room. Of course, Ruby was glued to her side as always. "You're really starting to freak me out."

Balthazar's gray eyes focused on Gabriel for a second. He looked dazed… confused. Gabriel sighed and put down the bit of clay he had been molding. Maybe anger wasn't the right approach.

"Look," he said, glancing over at Meg. She looked like shit—still with the bloodshot eyes, jerky movements. She was still coming down off her high and she was on the brink of crashing. "Look, Balthazar."

"What?" he asked. It seemed he was making an effort to not look in Meg's direction again. At least he was trying.

"Why do you care about her so much?"

Balthazar instantly looked flustered. "I—I what? You know—"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Clearly this isn't a conversation for class." He raised his hand to get Ms. Barnes's attention, but before she even looked his way he said, "Excuse me? Balthazar isn't feeling well is it okay if I take him to the nurse? He said his stomach was hurting really badly."

Ms. Barnes, being the awesome teacher she was, didn't even ask questions. She waved the two boys out of the room. Gabriel latched onto the sleeve of Balthazar's tee shirt and hauled him into the hallway. Balthazar took it like a champ. By now he was used to Gabriel doing these kinds of things. He looked mildly irked, but he went with it.

"Listen to me," Gabriel implored. He rubbed his eyes, letting his hands drag down his face. He sounded tired to his own ears. "I'm done with this bullshit. Meg Masters is no good and she will fucking eat you alive, you hear me? I don't care if you just want to get in her pants or, I don't know, date her or something, but you can't do either because she is a _wreck_. Are you hearing me?"

Balthazar stopped and leaned against the row of lockers, tilted his head back and stared at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. He seemed tired, too.

"You just don't see it," he sighed. Gabriel crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one leg.

"What, exactly, don't I see?"

"She's living in a shithole." Balthazar dropped his head back down and stared at Gabriel with surprising intensity. Gabriel swallowed. Shit. He hadn't realized how… passionate Balthazar had gotten about this.

"So what?" he demanded. "We're all living in shitholes. We're in fucking high school. Best time of your life? Hell no."

"But the difference is that she doesn't know how he hell to deal with it."

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "And you can teach her how?"

The taller boy shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe? I just want to help her."

"Well news flash!" Gabriel threw his hands in the air, doing his best to keep his voice down. He never handled frustration well. "Maybe she doesn't want your help. You ever think of that? Maybe she _likes_ the way she is."

"The assmonkey's right, you know," a sultry voice cut in. Gabriel just had to look at Balthazar's expression to know it was Meg. He turned around on his heel, fixing her with a cutting glare. Balthazar bushed himself off the lockers and took a step toward her.

"I'm right about a lot of things," he said. She completely ignored him. Her dark eyes were trained on Balthazar.

"I don't need some guardian angel sitting on my shoulder," she spat, stalking toward him. Balthazar raised his chin defiantly, but didn't move. Not even when she was inches away. Gabriel stepped a few feet back. Whatever she was going to do to him, Balthazar had it coming. Gabriel had said so.

"I just—"

"No," she growled, suddenly shoving him against the lockers with a loud clatter, despite him being so much taller than her. "No. Don't give me any bullshit excuse. Back the fuck off. I don't need your _sympathy_, I don't need your _pity_, and I sure as hell don't need any help. I've gotten along fine on my own, and that isn't changing any time soon. So mind your own fucking business."

She shoved her arm against his torso one last time and then moved fluidly away, completely unruffled. Not once had she lost control of her temper. Her voice stayed the same monotone pitch, but still, somehow, she conveyed all kinds of warnings through her words and her body language. Gabriel watched her go, impressed. Not many people that small could be that menacing. He would know.

Balthazar stayed leaning against the lockers. He looked shaken, by comparison.

"I'm not gonna say I told you so, but I told you so," Gabriel said as soon as Meg disappeared back inside the art room.

Balthazar took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose you did." His hands dropped down to his side, skimming along the sides of his dark blue jeans. "It's a shame, that. She's lost." His hand patted his pocket once, twice, and a third time. He looked down and pushed his hand inside, his fingers scrabbling around. Gabriel noticed and smirked.

"Lose something?"

His friend checked all of his other pockets. When he was done, his gaze locked onto the door Meg had just disappeared through.

"Tart stole my wallet."

"Did you really just call her a _tart_?" Gabriel sniggered. "And I'm gonna say it again. This is the last time, I swear, but _I told you so_."

Balthazar flipped him off, running both hands through his hair again. "So are we going to the nurse or what? We need some sort of alibi."

Gabriel shrugged. "We could go see if there's any good stuff in the kitchen fridges. I bet I could talk Benny the cook into getting us something sweet." He winked and Balthazar rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Lead the way."

Gabriel nodded and began walking down the hall. "So are you going to get your wallet back or what?"

It took a long time for Balthazar to answer, and when he did, his voice was so quiet Gabriel could barely hear him. "No, I don't think I will."

And that was the last they spoke on the subject.

* * *

Mrs. Mills began to wrap up her notes for the day, and Sam felt his skin pricking. He had to say something. He _had_ to. She had been sitting behind him for the whole period probably expecting him to say something. After what had happened at lunch, he knew he owed it to her to at least apologize.

Apologize for what, he wasn't sure, but at least he was going to make an effort.

"The homework is page fifty-nine in the workbook," Mrs. Mills said as the students began to hastily pack their bags. It was almost last period and it was a beautiful day out. People were itching to be out of the classroom. She was barely holding on to their attention. "Please don't forget to do it!"

Sam scrawled down the homework on a page in his notebook and slammed it shut. He had no idea if Becky would even talk to him, but when he turned around she was staring at him expectantly. Her big brown eyes were wide, and her eyebrows were raised.

"I knew you would say something," she said before he even had the chance to get a word out, "but save your breath."

"I just wanted to—"

"I've moved on," she cut in, actually tossing her frizzy hair over one shoulder like the girls did in those movies. It looked really weird to see it in real life, and Sam had to repress the urge to laugh.

"What? It's only been a period…."

Becky narrowed her eyes and tightened her lips into a firm, white line. Without a word she reached into her sweater pocket and produced a CD case that looked familiar…

_Crap_.

"You dropped this earlier," she said, sliding the case across the desk. Sam rubbed his face and stared at the cover. It was a handwritten list of music. He actually recognized a few of the bands on there.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize—"

"No, you didn't, did you? You never notice anything about poor little Becky and her little crush. You never would." Her haughty air broke for one second, revealing the true hurt beneath, and Sam had no idea what to do. He thought of himself as a nice guy. He tried to be, at least. How could he have hurt her_ this_ badly without even knowing what he was doing?

"Look—"

"No you look," she snapped. The last few students had left the classroom, and they were left alone. "I don't want to even try and compete with Jess. I'd be set up for failure. I don't want to be friends because how could I ever be friends with you when I liked you for so long? How could I ever be friends with her when she got you and I didn't?"

Sam blinked. It actually sounded like she was talking off a movie script or something. She hadn't rehearsed this, had she? He shifted uncomfortably.

"I've found other people who appreciate me. We can be… weirdoes and outcasts together." She crossed her arms and pursed her lips, and Sam shook his head.

"I know who you're talking about—those two sophomores, right?"

She nodded and raised her chin a fraction of an inch. "Problem?"

"That's social suicide, Becky," he said earnestly. He didn't want to see her go down _that_ kind of path. The rest of the school would eat her for breakfast. He couldn't let that happen. Not after everything. "You could sit with us again tomorrow, or—"

"I don't want to. Trying to fit in with your kind would be a totally different kind of suicide." She stood up abruptly, gathering her books to her chest. "I don't want to pretend to be happy around people that make me miserable."

She walked out of the classroom with her head held high and a slight spring to her step. Sam grimaced as he watched her go. She was going to get killed by the student body. No one chose to be friends with those kinds of nerds and geeks. It just didn't happen.

He turned back to his desk to put his books in his bag, and his eyes fell upon the forgotten CD case. He gingerly picked it up and read over the titles. Some of this music he already knew, some was stuff he had meant to listen to, and other stuff was music he had never even heard of. It looked like an awesome playlist. For a moment, he considered putting it in his bag, but he didn't. Instead, when he walked out the door, he let it drop into the trash bin. He couldn't let himself listen to those songs. There was too much meaning behind them, and he had hurt Becky enough as it was.

* * *

Castiel packed his things carefully with a private grin at the end of AP Physics. That perfect test score felt good. It had been a while since he did so well on one of Mr. Crowley's exams, and Mr. Crowley was a particularly challenging grader. To get above an eighty-five was seen as an incredibly high accomplishment in this class. Getting a perfect score was often unheard of. It was certainly something to be proud of.

As Castiel began to walk out of the classroom, an arm snaked around his shoulders and he froze.

"Hey, take it easy," Ash Remington said with a good-natured smirk. He removed his arm. "Didn't mean to spook you or anything."

Castiel made a face similar to a grimace and nodded.

"Just wanted to say welcome to the family and all," he went on as the two of them began to walk down the hall. Castiel knew they didn't have the same next class.

"Welcome to what?"

Ash waved his hands as if that would clear anything up at all. "You know, our little group. The amigos."

"Why would you insinuate that I'm joining… the amigos?" Castiel cocked to his head to the side. Earlier, when he had been talking with Dean in the hall, it had been so easy to read what he was thinking. This was not the case with Ash. Once again, strangers were a conundrum to Castiel.

"Well, with Dean drooling over you all the time now, it'll only be a matter of time before…" He trailed off and winked at Castiel. Castiel didn't fully understand what he was getting at, but one thing he _did_ gather. It took him a moment to find a way to repeat it delicately.

"Dean… is interested in me?" he asked quietly.

Ash laughed and patted Castiel on the shoulder. The contact was rougher and more boisterous than the kind Castiel got at home from his father and sister, but the action reminded him of Gabriel in a way. "Bingo, buddy. But I'll tell you, his head is so deep in his ass he wouldn't say so."

"Oh."

"But it's no problem. Jo told me that she has something special planned or something. She's working with that redhead you were sitting next to."

"Charlie?" Castiel winced internally. This couldn't possibly go in a good direction.

"That's the one. They've been plotting." He raised his eyebrows manically. "It shouldn't be anything to worry about, though." He paused for a moment as they entered the languages wing of the school, and then laughed again. "On second thought, maybe you should worry. Jo's got Dean's best interests at heart but I wouldn't put it past her to play dirty."

"I'm not sure I understand—"

"But anyways, just wanted to give you a warm welcome," Ash said. He paused in front of the English classroom and gave Castiel a mock bow. "See you around soon." He disappeared into the classroom, leaving Castiel to scowl after him.

What was that all about? Did Dean really have feelings for him? Questions along those lines filled his head, and he was so consumed by them that he almost didn't notice the voices coming from the end of the hall. Castiel paused outside the door, cocking his head to the side to hear better. There were no used classrooms down at that end. There had been some electrical trouble a few months ago with the lights at that end of the languages wing, so to save some money the school changed classes to other open rooms in other parts of the building. Students weren't supposed to be down there.

"I _dare_ you to take another step," a female voice barked. Castiel recognized it immediately as Jo Harvelle. He paced a few feet closer to the open door, where the voices were coming from. This had been the classroom he took French in his freshman year. He heard some piece of furniture—either one of the student desks or a chair—get dragged across the floor and something hit the ground. A bag? Did someone fall?

"I tried to be nice," the other person in the room said. The voice couldn't be mistaken. It was Michael Smith. Castiel felt his jaw clench, thinking back to this morning after English. Castiel, by nature, was never the violent sort. He would rather solve things with words or let things take their course, but at the sound of that deep voice, his fist clenched into a tight ball.

"You really didn't," Jo said dryly. "So no henchmen to help you now?"

Michael laughed. It was a cold sound. "I would rather do this on my own." Another desk or chair got moved, and Castiel heard feet scramble on the linoleum. There was a sudden commotion inside, like there was a struggle, and Castiel was on the precipice of a decision. Go in and do what he could to help, or go about his business and let things take their course. He heard Jo gasp and spit some biting remark, and inexplicably he thought about how Charlie stood up to Michael and Zachariah this morning. She would want him to do the same.

Dropping his backpack to the floor, Castiel pushed the door open quietly and got his first look at what was going on inside.

Michael had Jo pinned up against a wall. There were both desks and chairs strewn haphazardly around the room, and a backpack was lying against the wall opposite to Michael and Jo. He had a hand on the inside of her tank top, creeping up toward her breasts. He had her completely immobilized, one of his legs wrapped around both of hers and his entire torso pressing hers against the wall. Jo was clearly struggling against him, but he was almost twice her size. She didn't stand a chance.

For a split second, Jo's eyes met Castiel's. She looked terrified. Truly scared out of her mind, and that was all Castiel needed to see. With newfound courage he didn't even knew he possessed he, Castiel crossed the room in three long strides and was upon them both like the wrath of God. He dropped to heavy hands on Michael's shoulders and pulled as hard as he could, almost throwing the larger boy across the room. Jo surged forward to stand next to Castiel, and they shared a quick nod.

Michael spun around and his eyes turned into liquid fire when he saw Castiel.

"You need some faggot to protect you?" he spat at Jo contemptuously.

Jo gave him the darkest glare Castiel had ever seen. "He's more of a man than you'll ever be."

Michael placed a hand on his chest. "Oh, how offensive!"

"Get out," Castiel growled, his voice going deeper. He even sounded menacing to himself, and Jo looked at him with surprise. Even Michael seemed a little taken aback. His dark eyes went from Jo, who was fully capable of protecting herself now that she was free, and Castiel. The odds were not in his favor, and Castiel could see that the battle was lost for Michael.

"You'll be sorry for that, Harvelle," he said ominously. "You really will."

She blinked lazily. "I really don't think I will."

Michael opened and closed his mouth a few times, but he seemed to have nothing more to say. Without a word he grabbed his backpack from where it was left by the door and stormed out of the room. Jo and Castiel were both silent for a moment, and then Jo let out a huge huff of air. She turned to face Castiel, her face both serious and celebratory.

"Thank you," she breathed. She sounded winded, as if she had just run a race. "Thank you so much, Castiel." She moved across the room and grabbed her backpack, and Castiel wondered how it got over there. Had she thrown it in defense?

He shifted in place. "It was necessary."

"It sure as hell was," she laughed. "You're a keeper, you know that? Whatever happens with you and Dean, you're staying around, okay?"

"Um… okay."

She looped her arm around his and guided him out of the room. She seemed to have recovered quickly from the trial with Michael. Castiel had never had first had experience with that sort of thing, but he had read before that it was extremely jarring and traumatizing. He would have expected Jo to be a little more shaken up. Perhaps she was more resilient than he was giving her credit for.

"The fucking asshole made us late for class," she groaned, looking at her watch.

Of all the things to be concerned about, she chose that? Castiel felt himself smile. She was most certainly more resilient than he had anticipated.


	10. Chapter 10

Jo felt her hands shaking as she took her seat in French. Michael was sitting in the front row, four seats away from her. Her whole body was screaming at her to both get as far away from him as possible and scratch his eyes out. How could he sit there, smirking his oily smile up at the teacher after trying to—to… after doing _that_? Jo wanted to go take a shower in the locker rooms. She could practically smell his reviling cologne from here, or maybe it was still on her. That made her want to take a shower even more. She squirmed in her seat as the rest of the students filed into the room.

Castiel was sitting across the room at his normal seat by the window. Jo tried to pay attention to him and keep her eyes from wandering over to that too-shiny head of black hair. Castiel seemed completely unruffled by what had happened in the classroom over. He was just staring placidly out the window, his expression and posture totally at ease. How was he not in the least bit shaken up? She had hid her nerves well enough from him, but was he seriously not freaked out at all? He practically threw Michael across the room. Jo couldn't believe how strong Castiel was. She was wondering why he hid that Superman side of him under a Clark Kent kind of character when a finger tapped her shoulder incessantly.

"Hey," Charlie greeted brightly as Jo jerked toward her, startled. Charlie grinned apologetically. "Sorry for scaring you."

Jo shook her head and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Don't worry about it."

Charlie smiled again and pulled her French books out of her bag. "You know, this class usually is the _worst_ on Mondays. Last period and all, and forget about the whole senioritis thing." She chuckled. "Well at least we have something to focus on instead."

Jo blinked slowly, not following, and Charlie frowned at her look of incomprehension.

"Plotting? Dean and Castiel's study session in the library after this?" she offered.

"Oh, right." Jo bobbed her head, but she couldn't muster up the same enthusiasm she had felt about their scheming during lunch. Her nerves were singing with nervous energy and she was barely focusing her mind enough to hold a conversation with Charlie. She doubted that she could put together a good enough plan to get Dean and Castiel together in one period. She rubbed her eyes blearily and sighed. How could she feel so energetic and so tired at the same time? Was this even normal?

"Hey… are you alright?" Jo glanced over at Charlie and saw a concerned expression on the other girl's face.

"Why do you ask?"

"You look kinda spooked; and it's more than me startling you when I sat down. You look really shaken up. Did something happen?"

Jo narrowed her eyes. "How can you tell?"

Charlie shrugged. "What can I say? I guess I'm good at reading people. So something _did_ happen, then, right?"

If Charlie could tell that much from just looking at her for a few seconds, Jo doubted that she could keep anything from the redhead. Her mom was the same way. She could take one look at her daughter and know a day at school had been either absolute horse shit or not so bad. Jo's lips curled into a faint smile, thinking about the look on her mom's face whenever Jo complained about her being able to read people too well.

"Yeah," she said softly. The teacher, Mrs. Golec, had just walked in. People were starting to quiet down as much as a last period French class full of seniors could quiet down. A clear murmur was still going around the classroom, and Mrs. Golec didn't seem to mind. There was nothing she could do about it, anyway.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Charlie gently prodded. She still had Jo fixed under a searching gaze. Jo know she should probably answer yes here. It was never healthy to bottle something up for long, but if she had learned anything from growing up with Dean, it was that sometimes bottling things up was the only way to go.

"Not really," she said as Mrs. Golec began to review the homework that maybe three students actually did. Jo didn't even bother taking any papers out to pretend that she had. Of course, _he_ did it. Michael's hand shot up to answer every question, like the good little boy everybody thought him to be. Jo's skin crawled as he correctly answered everything the teacher threw at him. Smug bastard.

Charlie's eyes followed Jo's stony glare, and her gaze traveled between Jo and Michael for a few seconds. If she came to any conclusions about what was bothering Jo, she didn't say what they were, and for that Jo was thankful. The last thing she needed was someone else pushing her into something she didn't want to do.

"So what are we going to do about the study session?" Charlie asked, successfully pulling Jo's attention away from Michael.

Jo pursed her lips and shrugged. "Dean's an idiot, but he isn't stupid. Well… no, he _is_ stupid but he isn't _that_ stupid. If whatever those two lovebirds have going on is the real deal, I don't think he'll keep his head in his ass for very long."

Charlie nodded and pretended to jot down what Mrs. Golec was saying. "So you're saying we should just let them run their course?" Both girls glanced over at Castiel, who was staring out the window. He was obviously stuck in his own world, completely shutting out the dreary French class. He looked peaceful, but completely oblivious. Jo frowned.

"Yeah, but maybe we should be there for a little support. The wing women."

Charlie nodded again curtly, all seriousness. "Agreed."

* * *

Meg leafed through the contents of Balthazar's black leather wallet as she approached her locker. That kid was an even bigger idiot than she had thought. He had two hundred and thirty-five dollars in there along with a shit ton of gift cards to a bunch of high-end stores that Meg had never stepped foot in in her whole sorry life. Who the fuck carries around a bunch of gift cards like that? Who even gets that many gift cards? The wallet itself was probably worth a few hundred bucks, knowing Balthazar's filthy rich family. He was always dropped off in a top of the line sports car by a woman practically dripping in expensive jewelry. They could probably buy five of these wallets just to prove how much money they had.

People like that made her sick to her stomach.

At her locker, Meg dumped the books she had brought to classes into the bottom and shoved a few books she might need for some homework back into her bag. Chances were she wasn't even going to open her bag until first period tomorrow. There were more important things to do than homework, like getting home and getting the money she promised her dad at the beginning of the day. He would probably be passed out on the couch when she got home, but on the off chance that he was awake she wanted a safety cushion. He wouldn't pay much attention to her when he had a bunch of green bills shoved under his nose.

She slammed her locker shut and began to saunter down the hallway, putting a purposeful sway in her step. Ruby was stuck in Spanish, and Meg had no more classes for the day. She was free for the next half hour as she walked home. Nobody intercepted her in the hallway, but she walked through the side exit of the school—through the gym—anyways just to be safe.

No sooner than the warm April sun hit her face, Meg's way was blocked.

"Cutting school early, little sister?" Alistair asked, his faint lisp causing spittle to fly from his lips and hit her in the face when he said 'sister'. She wiped it off with a look of disgust on her face.

"What the fuck are you still doing here?"

"Ruby was thinking we would… hang out after she got out of school." He winked lazily at Meg and stepped out of her way, but it was more than a challenge than an invitation to let her pass. Meg stayed stubbornly rooted to her spot. Alistair began to walk around her slowly, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

"Whatever you do with Ruby is fine, just leave me out of it," Meg spat.

"Believe me, I wasn't planning on sharing the _intimate_ details," he hissed right in her ear. Goosebumps rose on her skin in response.

"Good."

"But I was hoping you could do me—us, that is—a little favor." He stopped right in front of her, his legs spread apart. He looked like in army general in that pose. Meg wondered whether he was doing that to intimidate her or if his ego was so big that he was doing it subconsciously. He was too big of a bonehead to try and do that on purpose. Of course it was his ego.

And of course he was asking for favors.

"I just never get a break, do I?" she muttered to herself.

"What was that?" he barked, narrowing his eyes and leaning forward.

Meg smiled, but it felt more like baring her teeth. "What do you need, big brother of mine?"

He began to circle her slowly again. "Hundred bucks."

Meg took a deep breath. "What the fuck do you need that kind of money for?"

"None of your business."

"Well sorry, but I haven't got anything," she lied through her teeth. The wallet seemed to weigh down her backpack, dragging it to the ground. She was glad she thought to drop it into her bag with her books before coming outside. Alistair would definitely have seen it in her pocket.

"That so?" he asked, inching closer. Meg shifted her weight onto her heels, leaning as far away from him as she could, but she refused to move back. She would hold her ground.

"Go scavenge somewhere else."

Alistair stopped inches from Meg's face. She could feel his sickly warm breath on her skin and she wanted no more to be anywhere else than here. Even her ratty living room with her father drunk out of his mind seemed more inviting than this, because the worst her dad could do was beat her. Alistair had a way of making things way worse than they seemed, and he had that look in his flat eyes now that made Meg's blood go cold and her whole body freeze up. He looked predatory.

"Fine," he said finally, leaning back. Meg let out a silent breath. "I'll catch you around, baby sister." He winked at her again and stepped farther away. Meg didn't need to be told twice. She leaned forward and broke into a fast walk, on the verge of running. She couldn't let him see her run away.

Meg waited until she had turned a corner to stop and collect herself. She slowed her breathing and willed her heart to stop beating so loudly. Somehow, she got her pulse back to normal and straightened herself out. No point looking disorderly. She was just going home to give her dad some cash and not get some homework done.

She set off at a slow walk down the two-lane road. Not many people were out an about Lawrence at this time on a Monday afternoon. She took her sweet time going home, the wallet still feeling like a stone on her back. She needed it more than that rich kid. She needed it more.

She kept telling herself that all the way home, but the words never rang true.

* * *

Gabriel could still taste the brownie on his tongue as he powered through Trig. A late afternoon snack was just the thing to get him through last period and into the end of the day. Especially when that last period was math. One did not simply jump into a math class without the proper sustenance. As quietly as he could, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a Twix bar. Always best to have a little something for the road, in Gabriel's opinion. He took a bite and began to take notes again, for once actually focusing.

Mrs. Jordan, his teacher, scanned the room. "Can anybody tell me the answer to the problem on the board?"

Gabriel swallowed the last of his candy bar and raised his hand in the air. "Negative one," he answered when she called on him.

For a moment, Mrs. Jordan looked impressed. "That's right."

Gabriel sat back in his chair with a smug expression on his face and licked the last traces of chocolate from his hand. It was nice to know that when he actually tried, he wasn't some world-class idiot. At least he had the option not to be.

Balthazar snorted at him from the seat to his right.

"What's so funny, asshat?" he whispered. Mrs. Jordan had already moved on to the next problem, and her attention was on the other side of the room.

Balthazar shrugged. "You seem pretty pleased with yourself."

Gabriel comically puffed out his chest and raised his eyebrows. "Why shouldn't I be? I'm a genius."

His friend shook his head, but didn't respond. Gabriel let out his breath and furrowed his brow. Balthazar was acting normally, which was good. But it was also unexpected. It was probably best not to say anything about Meg, but Gabriel barely held his questions back. For some reason, today she seemed to get under his friend's skin. Gabriel knew from experience that that was no easy feat. Why her, and why now?

Balthazar pulled out his phone and checked a text message. To Gabriel, he didn't look any different than he had yesterday or the week before. What had changed?

"I know I have a fine ass, but there's no need to stare at it," Balthazar commented without looking up from his phone. He was typing out a message to somebody. Gabriel rolled his eyes.

"As if I would waste my time staring at your ass when there are such better views in other places."

It was Balthazar's turn to roll his eyes. "Keep telling yourself that."

Gabriel made a face and went back to taking notes and paying attention. He was never going to get inside Balthazar's head, and things were back to normal again. Why bother questioning it?

* * *

It was fitting that his last period before meeting Castiel in the library was English. Dean scrubbed a hand over his eyes as Sasha flawlessly read through some monologue that went completely over Dean's head. It shocked him that she could read the lines so easily without once stumbling over her words. Mr. Shurley occasionally glanced up from his battered copy of _The Merchant of Venice_, nodding at Sasha with approval. Dean had never gotten that look from him before. Sasha finished reading the monologue and flicked her hair over her shoulder with a superior look on her face. He and Ash exchanged a look of total incomprehension. Ash could read numbers, but Shakespeare was as foreign to him as it was to Dean. Dean hoped that Castiel would be able to explain what the hell that monologue meant later.

"That was a great reading, Sasha," Mr. Shurley commented as soon as she finished speaking. "I, uh, get that it's last period, guys. So I'm thinking that I'll just let you out fifteen minutes early as long as you promise to finish Act Three for homework, alright?"

There was no hesitation when everybody in the room said, "Yes!" Mr. Shurley smiled and waved them away. "Just be sure to stay quiet in the hallways!" he called after the first few students who walked out the door.

Dean hurried out of the classroom, leaving Ash behind to scramble with his bags. They could meet up later after Dean's study session. Maybe he could go get some of his homework done in the library before Castiel got there. Dean had all the books he needed already, anyway. He picked up the pace, heading down the hallway that would lead him to the hallway.

"Hey, Winchester!"

"Walt," Dean said. He stopped, but he didn't turn around. Walt was one of the last people he wanted to see right now.

"Where you heading?" Walt asked, circling in front of Dean along with four friends: Roy, Johnny, Mark, and Christian. All members of the baseball team. Walt had a tight smile stretched across his round face, exposing crooked teeth. Couldn't his parents invest in braces or something?

"Going to do some work," Dean replied carefully.

"That so?"

"Yup."

Roy stepped forward. "A couple other guys on the team had a free last period. We were going to go get in uniform and toss a ball around early. Get warmed up." He eyed dean and crossed his arms. Dean was pretty sure they all knew what he was going to say already, but he said it anyway.

"I've really got to get my grades up if I want to graduate, you know," he said slowly, beginning to inch to the left to get around the group of guys. All of their faces hardened at his words. Jimmy made a disgusted sound and crossed his arms, too.

"When you joined the team, we thought maybe, I don't know, you'd actually _play_," Christian snapped. He took a menacing step forward. "It's bad enough that you never show up, but you're the best batter we've got, Dean. If you sucked, we wouldn't give a rat's ass if you came or didn't, but we need you. You joined the team for a reason. So get your ass down to the field, alright?"

Dean chuckled without any humor. His expression grew hard and he felt his hands bunch into fists. No sorry douchebag got to talk to him like that and get away with it. He couldn't let himself get into a fight, though. His dad would probably have a stroke if he heard Dean got caught fighting on school property. Dean reluctantly reined in his aggression and calmed himself down. These losers weren't worth the effort, anyway.

"Are you coming or what?" Walt asked, pulling Christian back into the fold.

Dean smirked. "You didn't ask nicely, so no."

"You really going to make that mistake, Winchester?" Johnny demanded. He looked like he wanted to take a swing at Dean's head, and Dean wanted him to. He could take the scrawny kid, easy, as long as he didn't star the fight.

"Or what?" Dean asked, almost playfully. "Go tell on me?"

Mark stepped forward and planted himself between Dean and the rest of the team. "Forget about it, guys." He glanced over his shoulder and eyed Dean darkly. "He's a lost cause. Let's go get ready."

Dean smiled at them all cheerfully as they headed back down the hallway the way they had come. He always did like Mark. He was a good guy. Dean watched as they all turned a corner, and noticed somebody standing idly at the end of the hall where the ballplayers disappeared.

"Hey, Zachariah, got a habit of lurking in dark corners, or what?" Dean laughed. The larger boy scowled at him and then disappeared in the same direction the hall as the rest of them. Dean turned back toward the library, chuckling, and remembered what he was heading there for. This was so much better than hanging around some lame baseball game. He smiled brightly as he walked into the quiet, nearly empty space. Castiel would be there soon enough, and he could barely wait.

* * *

It was bad enough that she had to face a whole period of biology with Sam, but this? Becky took a deep breath as class ended. Both Garth and Jess were sitting in front of her. She would have to walk by both of them to get out of the classroom, and the bell was going to ring any second now. What if they talked to her? What if they didn't? There was too much uncertainty. Becky was about to raise her hand and ask to go to the nurse so she could avoid the awkward questions when the bell finally did ring. Too late, now. Time to face the music.

Becky slowly gathered her things together, her eyes following Garth's and Jess's movements as they packed up, too. If she let them leave first, then maybe there wouldn't be any awkward conversation and they could all forget what had happened at lunch. They could pretend it never even happened.

She watched, astonished, as Jess left. She didn't once look back at Becky as she strolled out of the classroom, her blonde hair falling down her back like a fictional princess's would. Becky let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding as Garth also stood up. He was about to follow the last group of students out the door when he stopped and turned around. He looked straight at Becky. She jumped up in surprise, dropping her books to the ground and letting out a little shriek.

Of course she couldn't catch a break.

Garth didn't hesitate when he bent down to help her gather her books and other loose papers. They didn't look at each other until everything was straightened into a neat pile. Then, they both stood back up and let an awkward silence fill the room. Garth handed back her stack of books and Becky readjusted the backpack strap on her shoulder. If he was going to say anything, now was the time. Becky wasn't planning on waiting forever.

"Look, Becky," he said. She waited patiently. "I just wanted to say sorry for this morning. And at lunch. You seem like a really nice girl; I never meant to offend you or anything."

Becky sighed. "I know."

His eyes opened wider and for a moment, Garth seemed to backtrack. "Oh… you do?"

She nodded, smiling faintly. "Yeah. I overreacted."

"I—uh…."

"Can we just forget about it?" she asked, starting to walk out of the classroom. Garth followed, an easy smile spreading across his face. He seemed to smile a lot, Becky noticed. She liked that.

"Of course," he said as they entered the hallway. It was packed with people fighting to get home. It was finally the end of the day, after all.

"I'll see you around," Becky said as they started to get separated by the thick crowds of people. Garth said something in response, but it was lost in the din. She hoped that whatever he said was something good.

Becky felt so light as she walked to her locker. Her mom was probably waiting outside to pick her up. She had only a few weeks left of school before things started to wrap up. Her phone buzzed as she walked up to her locker, and when she took it out she saw that it was a text from Harry.

Forget Sam Winchester, here was a boy that actually paid attention to her. Becky smiled as she read what the text said. It was some dumb joke that Harry had read out of a book. She giggled more at the fact that he thought it was funny than the actual punch line. If this was how he always was, then Becky guessed that she'd be laughing a lot more from now on.

* * *

The walk down to the offices on the basement floor was quiet and lonely for Adam, but he didn't let that deter him or slow him down. The excitement of actually getting to have a full conversation with Tessa drove him on, and by the time he reached the guidance councilor's door, he was almost running. He forced himself to calm down before he raised his fist and knocked softly.

"Come in," came the immediate response.

Adam was surprised to see that Tessa wasn't in Mr. Morte's office yet, but there were two cushy chairs set up in front of his desk already.

"Ah, Adam," Mr. Morte greeted, standing up. "You're earlier than expected."

"I'm sorry, should I come back later?"

The guidance councilor sat back down and shook his head. "I wouldn't dream of it. Come; sit. This is actually fortunate that you've come early. I'd love to talk about Tessa for a moment."

Adam sat down on one of the chairs and nodded. "Okay, then."

Mr. Morte pressed his hands together and rested his sharp chin on his fingertips. "Tessa has been coming to see me regularly since about midway through her freshman year. She struggles with a great many things, but I believe the worst is that she feels invisible. She feels cut off from everybody else in ways deeper than physical. I'm sure that these are some things that everybody can relate to once or twice in their lives, but for Tessa it is a constant thing."

"So why did you ask me to come today?" Adam asked, not really following.

"You see her. She isn't invisible to you any longer, and Tessa needs that desperately. She needs to know she isn't invisible anymore." Mr. Morte leaned forward. "I will never repeat this again to anyone, but Tessa has become somewhat of a soft spot for me. I care about her wellbeing, and I want her to feel comfortable in school. You need to be her anchor, Adam. Tie her to your community, and she won't need me as much anymore. Remind her that she belongs with them."

Adam blinked. "Oh, wow. Okay. I can do that."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"Good. I had a feeling you were the right choice." He leaned back in his chair and raised his eyes to the door. Not a second later, a soft knock followed, and Adam twisted around in his chair.

"Come in, Tessa."

The door opened to reveal the dark-haired girl that Adam had been chasing all day. She stopped, looking apprehensive, when she saw Adam seated in the chair next to hers.

"Hey," he said when she closed the door behind her.

"Hi, Adam." Her apprehension melted into something that looked like excitement as she took the last chair. "What are you doing here?"

Mr. Morte's dark eyes glittered as he looked between the two teenagers. "He's here, Tessa, to have a conversation like we always have. I imagine that Adam would benefit from joining us today?"

She looked curiously at the guidance councilor. "Really?"

"Yes."

She smiled at Adam and he smiled back, and the office seemed to grow warmer, in a cozy kind of way.

"Good," she said.

* * *

Each step that brought him closer to the library made the growing tension in Castiel's gut worse and worse. This would have been a normal study session in the library for him if Jo hadn't said anything about Dean being interested in him…. Now everything felt more complicated. Was this meeting truly about reviewing _The Merchant of Venice_ or was there some ulterior motive going on that Castiel couldn't discern? His mind was racing faster and faster, and by the time he reached the doors of the library Castiel had convinced himself that this was all a horrible idea and that he shouldn't go through with it.

And then he saw Dean sitting at a table by himself, sandy brown head bent over a textbook, and any reservations Castiel felt vanished. Why would he turn down this kind of opportunity? He may never get a chance like this to talk with Dean again.

With determination, Castiel sat down in the seat across from Dean and placed his bag on the floor with a dull thud. Dean looked up, not at all surprised, and smiled that easy smile that Castiel had seen so few times.

"Hey, Cas," he greeted. Castiel narrowed his eyes.

"Why do you call me that?" The sound of his name shortened affectionately by Dean Winchester sent chills down Castiel's back, but he wasn't going to say that. He simply wanted to know if it was out of convenience that Dean had given him a nickname or if it was something else, much like Castiel wondering if the true purpose of this study session was to study. He felt his heart rate pick up again at the thought.

Dean chucked and closed the textbook he had been reading. "Uh… I don't really know. "

"Oh."

"Yeah," Dean said slowly. He stretched his arms behind him and glanced around the library. To Castiel, it seemed like they were completely alone, excepting the librarian, but she typically minded her own business. Dean laughed and dropped his hands onto the table.

"What is it?" Castiel asked, twisting to see where he was looking. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"Jo and that girl you were sitting with at lunch were staring at us through the windows on those doors." He pointed. "They disappeared as soon as I saw them. Suddenly I feel like we're in a fish tank." He laughed again and grinned at Castiel. It was the kind of smile that was unique, unlike the ones he gave to teachers when he lied about doing homework or to girls whose invitations to parties he was turning down. This was a smile that was reserved for Castiel only, and it made him feel all warm and cold at the same time.

"Why would they be watching us?" he managed to ask. It was surprising that he could get out a full sentence, he felt so flustered.

Dean chuckled again and glanced back at the window. "They've been scheming about this all day, I think."

"Scheming?"

"Yeah, they think they're evil masterminds like Dr. Evil or something." He snorted and glanced at Castiel. Castiel assumed that there was some sort of joke in there that he didn't understand. "Dr. Evil? The Austin Powers movies?"

"I've never heard of them."

"Wow, really?" He smiled somewhat suggestively, and Castiel noticed those green eyes flick down to his lips and then back up again. He felt his cheeks redden slightly, and he hoped desperately it didn't show. "We're going to have to change that."

"O—okay," Castiel stammered. He was sure now that he wouldn't be able to complete a full sentence. He had no idea how these social cues worked most of the time, but it seemed clear that Dean Winchester just proposed a date of some kind. Castiel normally couldn't read people, but he could read Dean's message loud and clear.

"Good. So maybe we should get to some Shakespeare," Dean said. He dropped his used copy of _The Merchant of Venice_ on the table with a sharp sound. Castiel jumped in his seat and blushed again. Right. English. That was what they were here for, after all. Castiel brought out his own copy of the play and opened it to the passages they read in class.

"Where do you want to start?"

Dean sighed down at his book. "You know, I haven't really understood much so I'm going to let you take the lead on this."

Castiel hid his smile as he flicked to the beginning of the first act. Maybe he could give Dean a brief summary of what had happened thus far. He began explaining Antonio's plight with his ships and Portia's fate with the tree caskets, and Dean looked captivated. Castiel told the story and fell deeper and deeper into Dean's eyes, and he knew he was lost for good.

* * *

"What's happening? I can't see shit from here. Castiel's head is blocking the way," Jo growled from her position in the window over from Charlie. Charlie rolled her eyes and smiled.

"It looks like they just started reading. You should see the way Dean is _staring_ at Castiel. He's head over heels."

"Oh my god, switch sides with me," Jo demanded. Before Charlie could move over, Jo grabbed her and pushed her aside roughly. Charlie smirked as Jo pressed her face to the window, barely containing her excitement. It was touching how much she cared about Dean's happiness. Charlie wished that she had a friend as close as that.

"Wow, you're right. He's practically drooling," Jo laughed. "I guess it's a good thing we didn't do anything to get involved. They seem to have things basically figured out on their own. Who would have known?" She tore her gaze away from the two boys to share a laugh with Charlie, and then she was back to monitoring them.

"Hey… Charlie?"

Charlie spun around and saw Ed standing there, looking very confused. Charlie smiled and waved him over.

"Jo, Ed. Ed, Jo." Jo waved absently at the sophomore and continued her watch. Charlie rolled her eyes at her and waved Ed over again. He approached cautiously, eyeing Jo warily. "We're just making some people fall in love," she explained.

"By staring at them?" Ed raised an eyebrow and took a look through the window that Charlie was standing by. "Who are you talking about? There's only two guys—" He paused, and Charlie could see the gears turning in his head. It didn't take long for them to click into place. "Oh," he said softly.

"Yeah. Wait a minute, weren't you supposed to be in the library, meeting with Mr. Singer for a paper?"

Ed shook his head. "We ended up meeting in his office."

"Oh, cool."

"So we can go whenever you want to."

Charlie glanced at Dean and Castiel and Jo staring at them. "I think I should probably hang around here for a little while longer. Just to be sure everything works out. I promised Castiel that I would get him into Dean Winchester's pants, anyways. So I'm here to the end. Do you mind?"

"Nope." Ed leaned against the wall and slid to the ground, where he pulled out his phone and started playing a game. Good, at least he wouldn't be bored. Charlie turned back to the task at hand just in time to see Castiel reach across the table and brush a finger under one of Dean's eyes.

"What the fuck was that?" Jo whispered, her breath fogging up the glass. "_What the fuck was that? What did Castiel just do?_"

Charlie shook her head. "Maybe it was an eyelash or something."

"People don't just _do_ that."

"I feel like Castiel does," Charlie admitted. He wasn't the brightest when it came to social stuff. Maybe he thought getting other people's eyelashes for them was a commonplace thing, and not something super intimate. At least Dean didn't pull back or tell him not to. That was a _really_ good sign.

"Hello again, Harvelle," a new voice said. All three of the people at the library doors spun around to see Michael and Zachariah filling up most of the hallway. They were clearly not there by chance. Charlie narrowed her eyes and took a few steps away from the doors to the library. Jo stayed where she was, a mixture of fear and fury on her face.

"What do you want?" Charlie barked. She was having none of their shit right now. Not after all that had happened today. Obviously Michael did something to Jo earlier, and it didn't take much imagination for Charlie to guess what it was. Michael called Castiel heinous words earlier. She shouldn't have let that go, either. Last time she kicked in the knee. This time she wasn't going to be so merciful.

"Get out of the way," Zachariah said. He stepped forward and came toe to toe with Charlie, hulking over her by a good six or seven inches. She wasn't going anywhere.

"Make me."

Michael pulled Zachariah back a bit with one hand, producing a camera with the other. "If it's your precious boys in there you're worried about, don't fret. We aren't going to beat them up or anything."

"Yeah, right."

"I mean it." Michael lifted up the camera, trying and failing to look like he meant what he said. Charlie could see him barely holding back cruel laughter. "I just want to get their picture."

"And do what with it? Spread gossip? Basically ruin their lives?" She crossed her arms and planted herself firmly in the middle of the hallway. "I don't think so."

Michael laughed bitterly and took a few steps forward. "Move," he said softly, "or I'll make you move. Your choice."

Charlie chose option three. Gathering all of her strength, she thrust her foot forward and right into the fork of Michael's legs. Her aim was true and the impact was hard. She smiled victoriously as he fell to his knees, hands clutching at his groin and a strained, excruciated expression on his typically composed face. Charlie raised her eyebrows at Zachariah, inviting him for his turn, but the larger boy had his priorities straight. He turned tail and fled down the hallway, abandoning the ringleader. Charlie crouched down by Michael and leaned toward him.

"If you try to bother Dean or Castiel or any of my friends one more time, there will be plenty more where that came from."

Michael eyed her darkly, but it was clear to everybody who had the upper hand, here. He stood up when Charlie did, and the three of them watched as he hobbled down the hallway after Zachariah, hands still at his crotch. Charlie returned to her friends, where Ed was staring at her with a look of pure awe and Jo was nodding in approval.

"That was badass," she commented. "He had it coming."

"He definitely had it coming."

"Thank you," Jo whispered as soon as both girls had resumed their positions. Charlie knew how deep that thanks went, and she nodded as a way of saying 'you're welcome'. She didn't want Jo to feel uncomfortable with anything, so she let the topic go.

They resumed staring at Dean and Castiel; their heads bent close together over one copy of a book. Charlie sighed as she watched them fall deeper and deeper in love, knowing she was seeing something that only happened once in a lifetime. It was the kind of thing that books were written about and movies were made about and fans cried about. It was magic and real and it was all for Dean and Castiel. She was glad that she could at least see a part of it.


	11. Epilogue

**A/N: I just want to thank anybody who's gone through this whole story. It's been so much fun writing it and all the support I get means the world to me. Thank you for taking the time to read my work and I hope to hear from you all again in the future :) **

**~Annie**

* * *

And so another day passes for the population of Lawrence High School. As the sun set on the small city in Kansas, each student went about their business.

Becky texts Harry well into the night, much to Charlie and Ed's annoyance. They start dating at the beginning of the next year, and Becky often says that Harry was her first love. They don't continue a long distance relationship when he goes to college, but they stay in touch as good friends.

Adam and Tessa have a long talk with their guidance councilor about high school and public image and they go on to become inseparable friends through the rest of high school and college. Tessa doesn't feel invisible to everyone anymore, and when she does, Adam is always there to keep the promise he made to Mr. Morte.

Meg's life stays mostly the same. She is terrorized by her father and brother and continues to lash out at almost everyone around her. Nobody ever gets to her like Balthazar did that one time, and for that she's both heartbroken and grateful. Eventually, she finds a way to go to community college and get a steady job, but she never really escapes in the way she always dreamed about as a high schooler. She has drug problems for the rest of her life.

After the year ends, Gabriel and Balthazar take that road trip they had been planning for the whole year. On the way home, Gabriel accidentally crashes the car into the back of a fourteen wheeler and faces the consequences alongside his best friend. Balthazar never talks about Meg again, but he often wonders what would have happened if he had pushed her a little harder. Chances are he would have turned her life around, but there are no second chances. Gabriel and Balthazar stay best friends for their whole lives, being the best man at each other's weddings and always living close to each other. They grow older, but they never really grow up.

Sam and Jess preform in the school musical and go on their first date. They end up going to the same college—Sam studying pre law and Jess studying preforming arts—and they get married after Sam graduates from Sanford Law School. They live the perfect apple pie life: high school sweethearts and soul mates.

Charlie keeps in touch with Jo and Castel after graduation for a while, but eventually she stops talking to them and finds what she was looking for all along: somebody of her own to love. She begins dating a brunette named Sandy. They met at Comic Con some years after Charlie graduates college and end up living together for the rest of their lives.

When her mother retires, Jo inherits the Roadhouse and runs it better than her mom ever did. She settles down in Lawrence, meets a nice guy in college, and lives the life she always wanted. She stays best friends with Dean—to her children, Uncle Dean—and never worries about her future or the terrors of high school again. She's happier than she had ever imagined herself being. Sometimes, it's nice to be surprised.

As for Dean and Castiel, it takes them a while (as Jo would put it) for them to get their heads out of their asses and make things work out. They don't begin dating in high school and graduate on friendly terms only. It isn't until after college that they meet again by chance in downtown Lawrence that they finally wake up and see what they've been missing. Dean opens a garage and Castiel becomes an English teacher at Lawrence High School. They live together in a small house just outside of town, keeping mostly to themselves despite Jo always being around. Dean keeps in touch with his parents, though relations have been strained after he told his father he was in a relationship with a man, and he calls Sammy every night. Castiel visits his father once or twice a month. Dean and Castiel are happy, as well. Sometimes life is hard, but they have each other as a rock to hold onto and that makes the challenges easy to bear.

All of the one-time students' lives just go to show how much a single day can affect someone's story. One kind word to a crying freshman turns her whole high school experience around. Two scheming girls set up a happy future for a couple that was really always meant to be. But this was just one day on a string of many—some worse, but some bad, and all important to the overall story. This was just a turning point; a crossroads for some, but in the end it was just a day in the life.


End file.
